


To Measure Her Character

by Aegrisomnia89



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Porn, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bane Loves Power, Bane is a Nerd, Bloodplay, Complicated Feels, F/M, It goes about as well as you think, Marking, Master and Apprentice Shenanigans, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Zannah Tries to Fuck Her Feelings Away, porn in later chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-21 03:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12448641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aegrisomnia89/pseuds/Aegrisomnia89
Summary: Set immediately after "Rule of Two".Ambria leaves a scar that, no matter what she tries, Zannah cannot erase. Their future lies in Ciutric IV, but, plagued with self-doubt, Zannah can only struggle to maintain the facade that everything is alright...until the Force abandons her.Or, alternatively, The One Where Sith Sex Solves Everyone's Problems.





	1. Novus

“ _Kriffing_ hells,” Zannah murmured to herself as she collapsed atop one of the empty crates in the cargo hold. One more empty box meant a weeks’ worth of rations gone. Within another week they’d need to make landfall in order to restock, and the task would, inevitably, fall unto her to carry out.

Between herself and her Master it was no small wonder that they were burning through their supplies so quickly; Bane’s recovery was a long and slow process, and after the first few days hooked up to the bacta pump he had awoken with an appetite as voracious and desperate as a man starved.

Zannah, who had simply been relieved to see him up and about, had denied her Master nothing and hadn’t even bothered to warn him that their stores were beginning to run a bit thin. Even with the additions of Cabel’s dried meats and fruits supplementing their meal packs, there was only so much they could carry aboard the _Loranda_.

With the dawn of each new day and after every meal she took stock of their dwindling provisions, keeping careful count of meats, fruits, vegetables and the dried packs that were best left as a last resort.

Bane’s appetite had been sated that first day and they had, together, tempered their meals into more sustainable portions by drawing on the power of the dark side. Doing so allowed them both to restore their energy levels and subsist off the power that coursed through their bodies, but Zannah knew it was no long-term solution; nothing was a fair substitute for the nutrition and fulfillment of _real_ food.

Sitting on the edge of another empty storage bin, acutely aware of the thin pangs of hunger that had begun to thread their way through her stomach, and determined to make up for lost time, Zannah decided that there was no other choice—they were going to have to find a planet and land, preferably before they were forced to dig into the flash-dried meal packs.

Her Master would approve, she knew, if she were to simply inform him of what she planned to do. Bane was many things, but impractical was not one of them. He still had access to his vast wealth accumulated over the course of the last ten years as well, so credits were not an obstacle. She’d be able to procure as much food as the two of them needed to last for however long until he decided upon a more permanent destination.

He’d said nothing to her about it and she knew better than to pester him while he was so entrenched in discovering the secrets of his newest holocron.

Frankly, she was relieved for the distraction, for it meant that Bane could allow his body the rest it needed in order to fully recuperate from the effects of the dying orbalisks. Sometimes she’d check in on him and see him sitting on the floor, a respirator mask over his nose and mouth as he used the Force to tap into Belia Darzu’s secrets.

The first few days he had insisted on going naked, the newness of his reborn skin still too tender to withstand the confines of the clothing they had on hand. She could only imagine the pain he had gone through and couldn’t find reason to argue, despite the chill that permeated the cabin.

As long as her Master had his studies, she knew he would not be bothered by anything else.

Except, perhaps, the lack of food.

Zannah bit her bottom lip and jiggled her leg so that the heel of her boot bounced against the floor in quick secession of _taptaptap_.

According to the ship’s navigation computer the nearest Type I planet was in the shallow reaches of the Outer Rim, along one of the established trade routes. _Ciutric IV_ , she remembered from when she had last checked, nearly three hours ago. Its position along the trade route was fortuitous; it meant they’d have as much luck finding a wide variety of food types as they would on any other civilized planet, but without the impedance of cost.

Ambria had been somewhat limited; the further off the sanctioned trade route a planet sat, the higher its import tax, and the price gouging was _unbeli_ _e_ _vable_ by the time various goods hit the markets. Even _with_ Bane’s near limitless credits, she had been loath to buy anything consumable that cost so much.

Ciutric was their best bet.

Mind made up, Zannah pushed herself back to her feet and slid out of the cargo hold and into the main cabin that she shared with her Master. He was, predictably, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sans shirt, eyes closed in meditation as the holocron levitated before him, pieces clicking and spinning out of place as he used the Force to peel apart its mysteries.

The holographic form of the Gatekeeper flickered into view and the tinny voice of a recording began to play, introducing this newest level of training Bane had unlocked. She could only just see his eyes as they opened, bright slits of gold and red as he smirked in muted delight of his latest achievement.

Truthfully, she could have stood in the doorway and watched him forever, a silent, unseen observer to the machinations of a great Dark Lord. Never had she known someone so prone to near-death experiences overcoming them in such spectacular fashion.

Despite the still pinkish, raw quality of his skin, Bane looked every bit as imposing and impenetrable as he had the first day she had met him. He was all height and muscles, power crafted beneath discolored skin affected by the toxins prevalent in the caves of Apatros. Every inch of him, every _glorious_ inch, exuded dark side energies as if he were a catalyst waiting to explode.

Zannah felt the urge to move closer, to attempt to drink from the cup that overflowed with power and promise, but she rooted herself against the entryway and continued to watch.

Her Master _was_ powerful— _beyond_ her understanding, to the point where she had been forced to redefine her expectations of the word in light of recent events. His command of the Force was extraordinary, his understanding of its depths more than Zannah could possibly handle in her present state. They way he had moved during their last battle, the carve of his red lightsaber through their foes’ defenses, the power and precision— _the recklessness_ , she amended—with which he orchestrated their end still fresh on the forefront of her mind.

Even wounded and dying there had been power in his strong frame, thrumming just beneath charred skin and seized muscles.

She couldn’t explain it, but even through the haze of panic setting in as she had thought all hope to be lost, there had been a small part of her that had rejected the notion of Bane as anything less than immortal.

That was a dangerous line of thought, she knew. As a child she had been prone to moments of worship, all of which Bane had shut down with the sort of finality that didn’t quite work on children. She had been unable to help herself; he was all she had left in the world.

He had seemed to her like a giant of myth, indomitable and immovable, powerful in ways that made her giddy but defied an explanation as to _why_. He raised her, ensured she had food, water, and a place to sleep, and he had trained her in the ways of the Sith with a patience that belied his stern demeanor. Of _course_ she had worshiped him.

Now, she knew better, and understood why her childish adulation had been misplaced. Bane was but a man, adept in the ways of the dark side of the Force, more powerful than any who had come before him and lacking a certain morality that allowed him to achieve his ends...but he was still just a _man_.

He was fallible and he was mortal.

He had drummed that lesson into her head time and time again, wanting her to understand that just because one possessed seemingly limitless power and strength did not mean they were immune to the ravages of time and injury.

‘ _Foolishness will get you killed_ ,’ she remembered him saying as he knelt in front of her—she had been twelve, still a child, and her hand bled from the knife she had been using to spar with. _‘Do not think yourself incapable of making mistakes—in this way, your pride will lead you astray and_ _ **that**_ _, my young apprentice, is how you will fail.’_

 _‘Everyone makes mistakes,’_ she had said, frowning at her feet and clenching her bloodied fist. _‘Even you, Master?’_

Bane had given her an appraising look and took her hand, uncurling her fingers from the shallow cut in the center of her palm.

 _‘Even me,’_ he had said, brushing his thumb along the cut and smearing the blood. _‘No one is perfect, Zannah. Do not_ _ **ever**_ _think otherwise.’_

 _‘_ _But—‘_

 _‘Our actions have_ _**consequences** _ _. Every one. As soon as you accept this truth you will begin to understand the gravity of the choices you make.’_

In that instance she had realized he had been referring to the orbalisks attached to his body, simultaneously feeding off of him and protecting him from harm. He had told her it was a symbiotic relationship, that the parasites provided him with near-impenetrable armor and helped him to focus his powers, but even then Zannah knew such power had come at great personal cost.

She tried to remind herself of all that had happened as she watched her Master with a more critical gaze, trying to discern a weakness beneath the flex of his arms and the pull of the Force surrounding him. If he was weak, he’d be of no use to her. There was still so much he had left to teach, however. She had saved him for precisely that reason, unwilling to give up on her training until she was certain she had gleamed from him every last drop of knowledge, every last secret he kept.

Satisfied that she had her emotions in check, Zannah pushed away from the doorway and took a few measured steps into the room, allowing her Force signature to unravel from the tight coil of secrecy. Bane’s head snapped up instantly, his bright eyes boring holes through hers, into the back of her brain where she _swore_ he could read her very thoughts.

“Master,” she said, coming closer and kneeling before him, just half a meter shy from where the holocron floated; better to keep it as a barrier between them, she thought, just in case.

“I’d like to discuss with you our next move.”

Bane stared in that deep, disconcerting manner of his that set her on edge, but gave no outward sign of disapproval. Taking that as permission enough to continue, she shifted on her knees and explained the state of their storeroom.

“There’s enough rations to last us another week, but if we’re to continue on we’ll need to restock; I’ve located an ideal planet not far from here where we can procure the supplies we need. On top of food we should refill the medical kit and I’d like to see about ditching the old bacta pump for a newer model. I don’t think you need it anymore, but it’s best to have one on hand.”

Bane nodded in agreement, his gaze flickering to the doorway from which she had appeared.

“What is the name of the planet?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

“Ciutric IV. It’s part of the trade route located in the Outer Rim. We’d be far from the eyes of the Jedi, beyond their reach.”

“ _Nothing_ is beyond their reach, Apprentice,” Bane replied, in that voice he usually reserved for when Zannah made a mistake. He leaned forward, his elbows resting heavily against his knees as he captured her eyes with his own. “Do _not_ underestimate the Jedi. It will be your undoing.”

“Pride comes before the fall,” she whispered, reciting one of his many lessons. The edge of his mouth twitched, as good as a smile, and he dismissed her with a sharp wave of his hand.

“See to the landing,” he ordered. “Make way for the nearest city that looks promising and alert me before you leave the ship. I will handle the credits.”

“ Yes, Master,” Zannah said, bending at the waist until her forehead touched the cool steel of the deck beneath her. Pushing off, she gracefully rose to her feet and left the room as silently as she had arrived, with the barest swish her soft cloak as it brushed the back of her legs.


	2. Ruboris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who viewed and left kudos so far! I wish I could just throw this all up at once but I'm still editing and trying to make sure there's no conflict or glaring errors. I'm gonna keep with my schedule of uploading a new chapter every two days so the next update should be out the evening of the 27th (it's not a whole two days but I get excited and know I won't be able to wait any longer than that XD). I hope everyone is enjoying so far, and please continue to have fun!

From space, Ciutric IV appeared as any other terrestrial planet, complete with large bodies of blue water and landmasses that peaked into sharp mountain ranges and dipped to low valleys, where spreading forests thinned into desert plains.

Zannah caught the stirrings of excitement in her chest and allowed the sensation to fully spread throughout her entire body as she steered the _Loranda_ through the upper atmosphere of the planet, targeting an empty clearing several kilometers West of Daplona, one of the largest cities on the planet.

It was for this reason alone that Zannah had chosen their destination—the larger the city, the more people living in it, and the less she would stand out next to the average citizen. She had already donned a simple outfit of dark brown trousers and a long, cream-colored tunic, belted at the waist and thick enough to conceal her lightsaber as it hung from a clip attached to another belt at the top of her pants. Short boots came up to her ankles, sacrificing height for ease of travel, and fingerless gloves adorned her hands.

She looked every inch a commoner, just another citizen passing through and stocking up on basic supplies. She had even pulled back her wild mane of curly hair and pinned it in a loose bun, altering her look by revealing the sharp angle of her cheekbones and the full width of her mouth.

By suppressing the dark side energies that normally coursed through her unchecked, she was even able to alter the sharp, golden flint of her eyes into a dull, gray-blue. With time she could have dyed her hair or even called upon sorcery to further alter her appearance, but their schedule didn’t permit the indulgence and she had no plans to stay planet-side for any longer than necessary.

The landing gear unfolded itself from beneath the ship and with a few adjustments to the flight control Zannah maneuvered the entire craft into the clearing in the middle of the forest surrounding Daplona. As she unbuckled herself from the pilot’s seat and adjusted the short half cloak pinned over her shoulders, she found herself worrying her bottom lip, and for good reason.

The past few days had seen a change in her Master that she couldn’t quite name, but also couldn’t deny. There was something in Bane, something dark and roiling beneath the surface of his skin that caused her great unease, but he had said nothing to her about his plans and had instead seemed content to wait on the ship while his apprentice completed her mission.

She hesitated at the controls, chewing on her lip and fingering a few buttons here and there for the sake of something to occupy her hands while she struggled to rein in her errant thoughts.

What if Bane was ill? What if he was in pain and concealing it from her? What if he had discovered something in the holocron and was planning on taking the ship and abandoning her?

It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibilities. Even though he had told her—using actual _words—_ that he had been proud of her for the way she had handled the situation back on Ambria, Zannah remained painfully aware that there now existed between them an imbalance.

She could never forget the way her Master had _begged_ her to kill him, rather than be captured by the Jedi and taken a prisoner, or executed by their hands, and he had all but admitted that he hadn’t trusted her to do what needed to be done to ensure their survival, and, by extension, the survival of the Sith.

She would never be able to wipe away the inherent sense of _betrayal_ she felt when he had snarled at her that she had doomed them and everything they had worked towards over the past decade.

But, neither could she deny that her actions had _almost_ led them to ruin; had it not been for her quick thinking in the end, the sacrifice of her cousin’s sanity and the life of the healer, and her uncanny ability to mask both her and her Master’s presence from more than a dozen highly trained Jedi, they would both be facing trial and execution.

She had saved them both, but the circumstances had been caused due to her weakness regarding her ancient attachment to her cousin, Darovit.

_I should have killed him all those years ago_ , she chastised herself as she finally idled the engines into a low hum, keeping them warm just in case of the need for a quick escape.

Perhaps _that_ was the reason for her unease.

Bane certainly hadn’t forgotten what had transpired on Ambria, but neither had he made any mention of it. Even during her short training sessions with him, when he wasn’t busy with the holocron, he had refused to talk about her attachment to her childhood friend and the disaster it had almost wrought upon them.

She knew that _he_ knew, but she didn’t know the extent of his dark thoughts and so, ever wary of the possibility of swift retribution, the unease had kept her on edge.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion,” she recited to herself, closing her eyes for a brief moment and allowing the shame inside of her to take the form of a sharp, flickering anger—anger at herself, for her own weakness, at Davorit for his foolish notion that she could ever betray her Master to the Jedi, and to Bane himself for refusing to trust her motives.

The anger burned bright and fierce inside of her until she felt the power of the dark side coalescing within, dark tendrils of invisible might stretched out beneath her fingertips like claws and wings at her back, enveloping her and making her feel as though she could rend apart the ship with her bare hands.

“Zannah.”

Within seconds she dropped her hands to her sides, unaware that she held them outward; the ship swayed gently in place and she realized her environment had not been unaffected by the flow of power. Her cheeks reddened at being caught as she looked up at her Master, who towered above her like a monument, dark and foreboding but for the quirk of a smile still caught at the edges of his firm mouth.

“Take care to conceal yourself,” he reminded her. “We must take _no_ chances here, even on the Outer Rim.”

“Forgive me, Master,” she hurried to say, “I was only—“

Bane held up a hand, halting her words.

“You need not ever apologize for reveling in the power of the dark side,” he said. “Every moment of mastery furthers your abilities. Take comfort that this is a joy that only a few shall ever know in their lifetime, for the Jedi are _weak_ and subservient creatures, bound to the Force as though it is a shackle that bars them from obtaining their true potential.”

Zannah felt her anger drain away as Bane spoke, the shape of his words imprinting themselves on her heart as they always seemed to do when she found herself in need of bolstering.

“We alone know the truth, that the Force is what _frees_ us,” her Master continued, “lifting us from bondage and bestowing us with the power to channel its energy through the strength and conviction of our emotions. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain _power—_ “

“Through power, I gain victory,” Zannah finished, wide-eyed and trembling with a sudden longing to spend the day at her Master’s feet, listening to his words and his teachings as though they were the only sustenance her body required. “Through victory, my chains will be _broken._ The Force will set me _free_.”

“Well spoken, my Apprentice. Now go, and keep your comlink online.”

He set a heavy hand against her shoulder and Zannah almost buckled from both the weight and the spark of desire that flooded her veins. She wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to remain by Bane’s side and train, to coax from him another one of his secrets he had yet to reveal.

She knew she was ready for the next step in her training, but more often than not Bane tasked her to discover the next level on her own before he stepped in to guide her. He pushed independence with such a single-minded intensity that she knew—she _knew_ he would be disgusted if he caught glimpse of the depths of her affection for him.

All she wanted was to remain forever by his side, forever his pupil in the ways of the dark side, forever in contradiction with _what they were_.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to feel pain and nothing else until the dark licks of fire fanning her connection to the dark side waned into a dull ache that was far more preferable and easily concealed.

Bane gave her shoulder a squeeze before turning and leaving her alone in the cockpit; if he had felt the change within her his expression had given nothing away. Zannah knew better than to think herself capable of hiding _everything_ from her Master, but she was adept enough to know it was possible to, at least, conceal those things that were too hideous to reveal.

The moment had passed, leaving her virtually unaffected except for the small, nearly imperceptible tremor in her legs. She attributed it to the recent current of Force flowing, unchecked, through her body and paid it no mind. A few steps and the tremor subsided into an ache that was more familiar, and she strode out of the ship with her chin held high and her apprehensions set aside.


	3. Abduxi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd wait until this evening, but oh well. Thanks everyone for being patient with me, I'm really happy to see people reading and enjoying! The good stuff is coming up, I promise XD.

Daplona stood in the middle of the industrial complex like a beacon amid the smokestacks of factories surrounding it, the spires of its tallest buildings reaching up to pierce the veil of smog and clouds. The streets wound through and around each building like a maze, multiple routes to any one destination.

After the isolation of Ambria, Zannah found herself hard-pressed to maneuver through the throng of bodies pressing in on her from all sides. The stink of sweat and foreign foods mingled in the air, exacerbated by the heat of the sun pressing down on the uncovered marketplace until she very nearly gagged. Her composition was not so delicate that she wasn’t able to overcome her body’s biology, however, and she continued on with her mission with a sneer of distaste just barely twisting her expression.

The marketplace, much like others she had been to, was an open-air construct with rows and rows of stalls lining both sides of a street that had been blocked from vehicular traffic. Merchants sold high quality fabrics, shimmersilk, armors and shields from every quadrant of the galaxy, hoisting the best of their wares in their arms like newborn children and shouting their prices at passerby with all the subtlety of a charging bantha.

Few booths hocked weapons, but that meant very little to Zannah, who was used to finding those willing to engage in the sort of black market dealings she had become accustomed to over the course of her lifetime.

Ignoring the allure of a clean, fresh outfit, she continued down the road until the path opened into a large courtyard bracketed by more shops than she had ever seen before. The yard spanned at least a kilometer in every direction and the shacks evolved into actual, permanent storefronts. It was, by far, the largest marketplace she had ever seen, testament to the planet’s good fortune as a central trading hub.

In the time it took her to locate the section of marketplace that dealt most in food and dried goods, she had already compiled a mental checklist of other items that she and her Master didn’t necessarily _need_ , but would certainly appreciate. An extra set of clothes, for one, would go a long way in improving her mood, Zannah decided.

All of their worldly possessions had been left on Ambria, most likely destroyed or stolen in the time Bane had left for Tython, leaving them with only one spare set of trousers and tunic each in addition to what they already wore. Luxuries had been sacrificed in exchange for secrecy and subtlety, but the time for that was now past.

The Jedi thought the Sith were wiped out of existence, for good this time, and Zannah could think of no reason why she couldn’t indulge in clothing that didn’t permanently smell of dirt and musk.

Accumulating the essentials took hours longer than she had anticipated, though, and by the time the sun dipped low in the sky she didn’t have the time to shop around for anything else.

The bacta tank she had found was lighter than the older model aboard the ship but still cumbersome to carry, and the three hover-crates she had rented had no more room to spare. She had managed to fashion a sling through the handle of the tank and had slipped it over her shoulder and back to distribute the weight evenly, but she wasn’t looking forward to the hike back to the _Loranda_. The darker it became the more difficult it would be navigating over the foreign terrain.

With one last, longing look at a pale blue shimmersilk shawl that had caught her eye earlier, Zannah activated the magnetic train of hover-crates and began guiding them toward the edge of town.

“Hey! _Hey!_ ”

The call, while most definitely directed at _her_ , could not persuade her to turn around in acknowledgment. Over the years her looks had evolved into a beauty approaching alluring, and she was thus used to being on the receiving end of catcalls and had learned long ago that the best policy was complete and total disinterest.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!”

Some men, of course, were not so easily dissuaded, forcing her to get creative in her rejection. More often than not a few broken fingers were enough to do the trick, but every now then there was that one _insistent_ would-be-lover who just couldn’t take the hint, no matter _how_ many bones she broke.

Unfortunately, the hover-crates possessed a single speed setting— _unbearably slow—_ and the pounding of footsteps grew loud as the suspect caught up with her. Zannah slid her hand beneath her tunic and touched the hilt of her lightsaber, determined not to use it even as an intimidation tactic, but taking comfort from its presence all the same.

“Lady— _geez_ , slow down, will you? You dropped something!”

Eyes narrowed, Zannah turned and gave the man her attention. To her surprise, he was an Iktotchi, slightly taller than her with dusky red skin and a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. His horns swept down toward his shoulders, shorter than she had seen on others of his species, but sharp at the tips.

Keeping the sneer from crossing her face, she stared at the him with wide-eyed innocence, pretending, for her own sake, to be interested in what he had to say.

“Oh?” she replied sweetly, tilting her head the side.

“Here,” the man said, holding out a fifty-credit chip between two thick, clawed fingers. “You dropped it a while back. I’ve been trying to catch up to you.”

“Thank you,” Zannah said, suppressing a frown. She hadn’t noticed she had dropped anything, but accepted the chip all the same. It wouldn’t have hurt them to have lost fifty credits considering Bane’s wealth, but she dared not risk her Master’s ire over something so simple, that she _shouldn’t_ have allowed to happen in the first place. She was _Sith_ , and she should have been more aware of herself.

“You have to be careful around here,” the Iktotchi said, shrugging. “You never know who’s out there trying to take advantage of you.”

He aimed a bright smile at her and for a moment all Zannah could see were the uneven, white rows of his sharpened teeth and the dimples in his cheeks. His eyes, she now noticed, were bright blue and crinkled at the corners as he continued to grin.

In that moment, she didn’t trust him _or_ his intentions. She didn’t even believe that the credit chip had been one that she had ‘dropped’. Either this one was a pickpocket of considerable skill or he just thought her to be stupid.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she said stiffly, turning away to resume her journey back to the ship.

“Yeah, well, I’m an honest kind of guy. Name’s Jex. What’s yours?”

“Rainah,” Zannah replied automatically, the falsehood an easy assumption at this point. “I’m busy, if you don’t mind.”

“I _don’t_ mind,” Jex said, falling in step beside her and thrusting his hands in the pockets of his flight trousers. He was a pilot, Zannah thought, catching the patches on the sleeves of his shirt and the modified goggles that hung roguishly around his neck. Flyboys were the _worst_ of the bunch; they never knew when to give up, and, worst of all, they usually traveled in _pairs_.

Anticipating an ambush at any second, Zannah tried to quicken her pace but to no avail—the hover-crates were locked on the lowest setting, forcing her hand.

“Well, I _do_ mind,” she said, tone hardening as the gloom of twilight crept through the streets. “I have a job to do and you’re in my way. Now, _leave me alone_.”

She waved her hand in a subtle gesture, directing her will and the strength of her suggestion toward Jex, pushing with the Force to alter his mindset and turn him away.

Not making a scene was high on her list of priorities; the blood in her veins hummed in apprehension of what would happen if she were to somehow blow their cover and so she endeavored to do exactly the opposite, lest she risk her Master’s wrath a final time. As with all instances of Force manipulation, she watched as Jex’s eyes glazed over as the suggestion took root in his brain, altering his neural pathways until he repeated the phrase back at her.

In the next moment, however, Zannah was forced to school her expression into rigid neutrality as Jex shook off the effects of her suggestion and frowned.

“I mean...I’d _like_ to leave you alone,” he said, as though confused as to where the errant thought had sprung from, “but you’ve got a lot of supplies with you and it’s getting dark. You sure you don’t want any help?”

Unbelievable. Out of all the people she had to cross paths with, it _would_ be someone with a will strong enough to resist the temptation of the Force.

She cursed herself for remembering, almost too late, that Iktotchi were gifted telepaths. Her mental barriers were strong, though, and she had done well to keep her Force signature muted; if there was any danger of Jex finding out what she really was, the knowledge would not come from _her._ She needed to do something about _him_ , though.

Zannah hesitated, warring with herself over the desire to be left alone and the need to not draw attention to herself. If she tried to use another Force suggestion on him there was no guarantee he wouldn’t overcome it and begin asking questions.

The Jedi were well-known throughout the galaxy and most of their tricks were spoken of as mystical legend, if not fact, making it possible that he might put two and two together and out her as a Force user. He might even try to probe her, telepathically, and that was something she preferred to avoid altogether. It would be unfavorable if she was forced to kill him. Bane would be displeased….

“I’m sure,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “I’m fine on my own. I made it into town and I’ll make my way back out. I appreciate it, but I don’t need your help.”

_Nor do I want it_ , she thought savagely.

Jex was one of the persistent ones, she could tell. He wasn’t used to being told ‘no’, but to his credit he did seem to be taking it a lot better than others she had met. Not that it meant anything to her.

She supposed, if he cleaned himself up, he could be presentable...maybe even handsome, for an Iktotchi. Her thoughts immediately catapulted to what he’d look like in her bed, naked and writhing and begging, and she brought herself up short, catching the brakes on the magnetic train and nearly tripping over her own feet.

_That_ was a mental image she hadn’t wanted.

“You alright?” Jex asked, concern wrinkling his brow as he crouched to pick up a few meiloorun fruit that had tumbled from the top of one of her overflowing crates.

Zannah stared hard, trying to decide what to do.

On one hand, she didn’t want to waste anymore time dealing with Jex, who seemed to be an earnest sort of man looking for a bit of companionship. He wasn’t completely harmless, but her confidence in her own abilities left her with little expectation as to what might happen if he had chosen to _not_ act so gallantly.

On the other hand, now that the idea had taken root, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t be permitted a little _fun_. Bane didn’t care about whom she took for a lover, so long as it didn’t interfere with her training or their goals.

_‘As long as the attachment doesn’t fester beyond your need for physical pleasure, you may bed whom you please,’_ had been his exact words to her when, at the age of fourteen, she had dared ask him about the hormonal changes ravaging her child’s body into something alien and cumbersome.

She had learned afterward that the rounding of her hips and the swelling of her breast were as much a weapon as her lightsaber, and had quickly discovered how to use her assets to her advantage. Passion and pleasure were not forbidden among the Sith as they were with the Jedi, a fact she had relished with every new lover.

It had been several months since she had last manipulated Kelad’den to his death, and though their ‘relationship’ had proven beneficial, Zannah had not mourned his loss. Now, with the temptation of Jex standing right before her, she found herself hard-pressed to simply dismiss the notion of taking on another lover.

It would do her good to work out some of her pent-up energy; her earlier connection to the dark side had only heightened her senses and she was now painfully aware of the heat in her bones and the twitch of her muscles as something beyond what the Force was capable of inciting.

There was only so much tension one could burn off in one training session, and even then there were aches that could not be soothed by the repetition of lightsaber forms or meditation. Bane had understood that, and had never tried to stop her when she had wandered off in the few hours of free time permitted in order to take care of her business in her own way.

Thinking of Bane did nothing for her budding lust, however. Compared to Jex, her Master was a specimen of physical perfection, and unlike Jex, she _knew_ the power coursing through him, knew exactly what his hands would feel like gripping her arms, knew the weight of his body from their training where he put her through various grappling holds until she learned to counter each and every one of them.

Zannah shook her head. Something _definitely_ needed to be done, if she was allowing thoughts of her _Master_ to distract her.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “Listen...I’m really busy right now. I have to return to my guardian with these supplies otherwise he’ll worry about me.”

“Oh, alright,” Jex said, sounding rather put off. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“I’d like that,” Zannah quickly said. “In fact...I _might_ be able to sneak back in town in a few hours. I’m not doing anything tonight and it’d be nice to have someone show me around. I bet you know where _all_ the fun is.”

Stroking a man’s ego was as good as stroking his cock, Zannah had discovered a long time ago. Most were willing to do anything for a few words of praise, and manipulation was something of a specialty for her. The insincerity came easily to her, and she spoke the words as though they were truths carved into stone for time immemorial.

Few had the power to resist her when she set her mind to it, and to her delight she rarely needed to draw on the power of the Force to get what she wanted.

Even so, she allowed the Force to flow from her again, reaching out to Jex and coaxing him to be more open and receptive to her ideas. It wasn’t true suggestion, not in the way she had first attempted to use it; this way made better use of her time.

If they thought everything she fed into them was _their_ idea to begin with, plans tended to flow a little more smoothly. It was how she preferred to work, and the few times Bane had observed her in action, she had felt the pride within him even though he had never once said anything to her regarding her abilities.

Jex grinned—an easy,terrifying smile if she allowed herself to dwell on it—and he removed one grease-stained hand from a pocket to rub the back of his neck.

“I’d like that,” he said, a little _too_ eagerly, so that Zannah almost pitied him. “I’ve got a place in town, so...maybe you can come over for a cup of caf and we can hang out?”

“That’d be fine,” she sighed. “I’ll meet you at…,” she cast her gaze around for a discerning landmark, finally alighting on a pole that rose thirty feet in the air and hoisted the city’s flag at the top, “...there. At the flagpole in about, say, four standard hours?”

“Yeah, _yeah_ , that’d be great,” Jex breathed, taking a step closer. Zannah stood her ground and stared into his eyes, resisting the urge to shove him back.

“You might want to take the time to clean up,” she suggested without any hint of the Force behind her words. She made a show of looking him up and down and arched her brow.

“Oh,” Jex laughed, looking down at himself, covered in stains from what could only be ship maintenance. He plucked at the baggy bit of his trousers and shook his head. “I guess I _am_ a mess. Don’t worry, you won’t even recognize me later.”

“I _hope_ that’s not the case,” Zannah murmured, and just for show she reached between them and pretended to dust something off Jex’s shoulder. Her action had its desired effect and the man drew in a sharp breath, lifting a bright gaze back to her face.

_Feed the flames of his desire and he’ll give you everything you want_ , she told herself with a small, secretive smile she was sure came across as coy.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised, parting with a final, benevolent smile and a twist to her gait that she knew accentuated the curve of her hips and ass. She could _feel_ the heat of Jex’s gaze as he watched her go and the sense of power she received knowing that she was completely in control almost stole her breath away.

Men were _too_ easy.


	4. Certe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who viewed! I know this is pretty much a niche-pairing and after Disney's takeover everything was relegated to 'Legends-verse' and has no real bearing on what's considered canon anymore, but I really do appreciate everyone who's taken the time to give this story a shot. Bane and Zannah are pretty much my favorite characters ever and I honestly feel like I could write a hundred stories of them just being Sith. Slightly longer chapters are upcoming, but I hope the read is worth it! If you have any thoughts or comments, I'd love to hear them, and thanks again!

“You’re not _concentrating_ ,” Bane accused as he brought his lightsaber down across one of her blades with such force the entire length of her arms shuddered as she tried to combat the blow, going down on one knee and pushing back as hard as she could, but to no avail. Her Master was as sturdy as a mountain, the strength in his arms and torso outmatching her on every level when it came down to a one-on-one fight.

Had she the freedom to move, she could have kept him at bay a while longer until she analyzed his movements and concocted an unbreakable defense, but, as he had surmised, her mind was elsewhere.

She had returned to the _Loranda_ to find her Master missing, with no sign of which direction he might have headed in and, of course, no word left as to where he had gone. Her earlier confidence from her encounter with Jex had vanished, panic taking its place when she thought of what Bane might have sought to accomplish by abandoning her without a word, exacerbated by the fact that both his lightsaber and the holocron were missing from the cabin.

He never went _anywhere_ without his lightsaber, and of course he’d take the holocron with him if he intended to continue studying it, but she had expected him to remain on the ship. Even though he had recovered a large portion of his strength, Zannah had expected his full range of motion to return only after a few more weeks of medical treatment.

He had left the ship, but in what condition?

The bacta pump had been neatly set in the corner and none of the remaining medical supplies had been missing. Even the respirator, which Bane had taken to using to ease his breathing during meditations, was coiled on a shelf and cold to the touch.

He had been gone for some time, she deduced, and immediately worried that this was punishment for her actions on Ambria.

Through the panic, her training had taken over, pushing her into autopilot as she forced herself to unpack the supplies and put everything to order aboard the ship. The food was organized into ready-made portions for ease of access and the medical kit was keenly repacked away where it had always been.

She even went a step further and shook out their bunks, ripping sheets and blankets free of the thin mattresses and tossing everything outside to wash in a nearby stream she had discovered on her journey back from the city.

Even with the ship’s work-lights functioning at full capacity and the light from the waxing twin moons she had barely been able to see what she had been doing through the thin veil of trees, and the more she dwelt on her own desperation, the more she felt sickened with herself.

If Bane chose to leave her, then it was no more than she deserved. As his Apprentice, he would have expected more from her.

Maybe this was a test and she was meant to track him down; perhaps this was part of her training, or, _maybe_ , he was waiting to see if she would take advantage of his absence and leave _him_ stranded. She couldn’t know for certain, however, and with no way of tracking him down her only choice was to wait and see if he returned.

Worse was the thought of what Bane might do if he returned to find _her_ missing if she set out to try and find him.

After washing the bedding and hanging it all out to dry, Zannah had succumbed to fatigue and dropped into a meditation pose, trying to collect her agitated thoughts and keep wild fancies from capturing her sense of reason and logic.

A part of her insisted that Bane wouldn’t simply _leave_ her; after all, he had spent ten years training her as his disciple. Her destiny was to one day destroy him and assume the mantle of Master herself, and she knew Bane was anticipating the day when she would be strong enough to challenge him head-on.

He wouldn’t throw away an entire _decade_ of hard work and dedication simply because she had almost brought the Sith Order to annihilation.

 _Maybe he decided you’re no longer worth the risk_ , a nasty little voice inside of her whispered. Frowning, Zannah had squeezed her eyes shut until pain pricked at her sockets, as she tried to force herself to surrender her consciousness over to the Force, inviting it inside to take control and ease her troubled mind.

Meditation only worked, however, if one was completely focused in the moment, and Zannah could not keep her thoughts from drifting.

She thought of her Master, of Caleb and Davorit, of Bug, Kelad’den, Jex, and all the others who had come before him. She thought of her life before Bane and after, and then stifled a frantic laugh at the realization that she had divided her life into two phases: Before and After Bane.

She thought of Laa and the two Jedi she had killed at ten years old, and she thought of the way Davorit had screamed and begged her to stop, trying to block the mental assault of nightmares brought to life with the stump of one arm. She thought of the way Bane had hissed at her in anger, _begged_ her to kill him—rather _her_ than the Jedi.

She saw his eyes, dark circled and pained, but _bright_ with the force of his fury, and the way he bared his teeth in a snarl she suspected would have ripped her throat out if he’d had the chance.

Subconsciously her hand rose from its position on her thigh to cradle her neck, just beneath her jaw, and she gave herself a small squeeze, wondering what it might have felt like to feel her Master’s massive hand clamped around the column of her throat, pressing the life from her veins with nothing more than brute strength.

She would have rather died by his will than disappoint him like that, had she been given the choice. She would have rather thrown herself on his blade than permit him to believe that she was as stupid and careless as he had accused her of being in those last moments before the Jedi had arrived.

 _I would have_ _ **killed**_ _myself before allowing you to think of me as anything_ _ **less**_ _than the Apprentice you trained to surpass you,_ she thought, clutching at her neck in agitation, raking her short nails across her skin until the pain returned her to the present.

Her chest ached until she feared her ribs would crack apart and her aching heart would pull free from her body. She squeezed her neck tighter, drawing herself up until she stood on her knees where she allowed herself to choke for a moment, until the edges of her vision ran dark and she grew lightheaded.

If this was meant to be punishment, if Bane’s leaving her was to serve the purpose of breaking her heart, then he had succeeded in his ambition.

“ _Zannah_ ,” spoken like a dark whisper, nearly in her ear, and she had shouted, dropping down and spinning around where she sat expecting to see Bane at her back, lightsaber drawn and cold intent in his eyes, but there had been nothing. She had turned back, heart beating wildly in her chest, only to jerk away from her Master in fright as he crouched directly in front of her.

She hadn’t even heard _movement_ this time, and it was either a credit to his skill or her own lack of awareness. More than likely it was the latter. She didn’t know what else to do but lie back on her elbows, staring at Bane with a mixture of fear and relief that she didn’t quite know how to reconcile.

“ _Master_ ,” she breathed in adulation, like a prayer.

He arched a brow at her and slowly stood, offering her his hand.

After a brief flash of indecision, she reached up and grasped his wrist, allowing him to yank her back to her feet. The callouses on his palm rubbed against her forearm in a way that burned, and she dropped her grip straightaway, lowering her head to him in deference.

He had returned to her, but at what cost?

Was he going to kill her? Was this the end of her test? Had she done well in his eyes or had she yet again failed him? The thought that she might have displeased him further brought bile to the back of her throat, which she readily swallowed back down.

“Where did you go?” she asked before she could stop herself; her voice sounded barren and hoarse to her own ears, like that of a lost child trying to fight back anger at the parent who had left it alone.

“Exploring,” came the rigid answer. “I’ve spent too long on that ship. I needed to test myself, to ensure that I am healing properly.”

Zannah rolled her lip between her teeth and looked up at her Master from beneath her lashes. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but over the top of her head, in the distance. She turned and saw the bed sheets twisting in the light breeze.

“I didn’t know where you had gone,” she tried to explain. “The ship was musty so I...aired it out. I thought it’d be good to clean and organize everything, for when we leave.”

Bane had said nothing else, but fixed that fiery gaze back on her until she felt the marrow in her bones turning molten, and then he had withdrawn his lightsaber from his belt.

Had he ignited it then and there, she would have collapsed at his feet.

She didn’t trust the weakness in her thighs or the steel of her spine any more than she trusted her Master to let her live in that moment, but she stood her ground, eyeing the silver glint of his hooked saber hilt as though she could make it disappear with the force of her thoughts.

“Draw your blade,” Bane had commanded. “It’s been too long since I last tested your skills.”

What choice did she have but to obey?

They clashed across the clearing, crimson blades twisting and spinning through the air, the vibrant hum a song that cut through the haze in Zannah’s mind as she forced herself to keep up with the flow of her Master’s assault, flipping out of the way and oftentimes bringing up her twin blades in the split second before Bane’s singular blade would have hewn off one of her limbs.

She was fast enough to dodge and keep out of harm’s way, but not fast enough to respond with an attack of her own, which was not her usual style. She could feel her Master’s displeasure growing as he came at her again and again, every strike testament to his strength and power. Had she not borne witness to it, she never would have believed that Bane had lain near death a few weeks ago.

“What occupies your mind?” Bane demanded of her after collapsing her entire defense with a series of powerful overhead chops that knocked the lightsaber right out of her hands and sent it spinning across the ground.

He stood over her, straddling her body with a boot on either side of her hips. She gaped up at him, shaking, and reached across the ground, using the Force to summon the hilt back into her hand. It skittered across rock and dirt and narrowly avoided the crush of Bane’s boot as he tried to stop its path, fitting into Zannah’s palm at the last moment. She ignited one blade and swept at her Master, forcing him to jump back.

“ _Nothing_ ,” she insisted, falling into a defensive stance.

Bane came at her again, wild swings of his blade striking at precise angles that she blocked with an ease that told her he was now toying with her. In all her years at his side, Bane had never once gone easy on her. This was very nearly an _insult_ , and she redoubled her efforts, driving him back a few steps with a burst of ferocity that belied her inner turmoil.

Was _this_ still part of the test? Had Bane left to ensure he was still strong enough to stand against her? Had he expected her to take advantage of his weakened state and kill him?

She had told him that was not her plan, after the Jedi had left under the mistaken assumption that their mission was complete with the death of the last Sith Master. She wanted him strong and sure, sharp-minded and sharper-tongued as he continued her training. There was still so much she didn’t know, so _much_ she had yet to master and without him none of it was possible.

He kept so many secrets to himself, refused her so much information until she was _ready…_ how could he think she would want him _dead?_

“Do not _lie_ to me, _girl_ , I can _feel_ your turmoil!” Bane snapped back, teeth bared as he threw himself at her.

His blade arced in a secession of lightning-fast strikes that had her cursing and stumbling backwards. Her arms felt as though they were about to fall off and, belatedly, she realized that hours had passed since Bane had initiated sparring; the time in which she had agreed to meet with Jex had come and gone.

She didn’t feel anything about it either way. Jex was not her Master, and _he_ took precedence over all.

Even when Bane had lost himself to the blood rages induced by the orbalisks covering his body, Zannah would have rather stayed by his side than return to her apartment on Ambria, even if it meant choosing between the imminent danger of being around her Master at his most unpredictable, and the warmth and comfort of Kelad’den’s body.

The backs of her calves knocked against something solid, a downed tree trunk, and she toppled backwards, curling in on herself and striking the ground with the flat of her back; a sharp rock dug into her lower side and she stifled a cry at the biting pain, using the momentum of her fall to tuck into a roll that brought her back to her feet. She reignited a single blade and held it before her like she had seen her Master do, dropping into the stance from a sequence of Form V.

“Come _on!_ ” she taunted, refusing to back down.

Her Master barked out a laugh and came at her so fast she thought she might be hallucinating, that the orbalisks still clung to his body, amplifying his power. The moment their blades crossed she knew she had made a mistake in facing him like this.

Djem So was an aggressive form, one that Bane had steered her away from when she first began her lightsaber training. He had rightfully judged her ill-equipped and suggested she take up Form III, specifically in the style of Soresu.

They had practiced together so often that the sequences were like second nature, but now, with Bane hammering away at her _again_ , striking and counter-attacking as though he intended to _kill_ her, she knew that she wouldn’t have been able to stop him even if she had maintained her preferred form.

One look at Bane’s face’s confirmed this; he was so focused, advancing without thought or care for anything around him. The hum of his lightsaber rattled her down to her bones, filling her with an electrifying sensation that made her _teeth_ hurt. She didn’t know if she could call the expression on his face a _grin_ , but it frightened her nevertheless.

Dimly, she wondered if there had ever been a test to begin with.

Every blow felt like punishment, but her Master, for all his distant ways, had never once struck her in retribution for making a mistake. His disappointment was the greater pain, he knew, and Zannah had always appreciated his restraint. If anything, his refusal to abuse her for her failings only endeared him to her all the more.

If this _was_ punishment, if this was his way of exacting revenge for Ambria, then surely she _deserved_ it.

Bane wouldn’t attack her like this without a reason.

“I hope you don’t plan on fighting like this the next time we cross paths with the Jedi,” Bane snarled as he closed in on her, pressing his blade so close to her hilt she felt the heat of it searing the unprotected skin of her hand. Zannah grit her teeth and pushed back with all her might, tilting the angle of her blade to deflect his, but with little success.

“It’d be a shame if all my hard work were for naught. Right now you’re hardly even a _challenge_.”

The blade hissed closer and she felt the heat glancing off her shoulder, distantly aware that the smoke meant he was burning away the fabric of her tunic; a few centimeters more and he’d carve through her flesh. Her earlier panic gradually returned, rising in her chest until she could no longer feel the individual beats of her heart, just an ache that made it difficult to breathe.

Still, she held her ground, forcing her blade back as far as she could until the crimson light cast the details of Bane’s face in sharp relief. If she could land one blow, just a _single_ hit, maybe she could prove herself worthy once again.

Maybe she could _end_ this torture.

“I did everything I could,” she fought back, managing to take a single step forward; it felt like a hundred kilometers. “You should have _faith_ in your Apprentice!”

“Faith means nothing without the ability to back it up,” Bane retorted, the tone of his voice indicating subtle surprise that she would dare speak back to him in such a manner. There was, and had always been, a level of respect between them that neither had ever breached. “The weak die and the strong persevere. Have you become _weak_ , Zannah? Have you fallen from you _conviction?_ ”

He dropped one hand from the hilt of his saber and, before Zannah could raise her defenses, he struck out at her with the Force, knocking her ten, fifteen feet back and sending her rolling across the clearing like a rag doll. Her lightsaber disappeared in the thicket at the forest’s edge and her limbs felt like they were arranged all wrong, like a little toy that had the misfortune of being played with too many times and was now broken beyond repair.

Zannah coughed and retched, dragging herself up on hands and knees as she tried to convince her head to stop _spinning_. Her sternum hurt and her heart continued to beat a staccato tattoo against her ribs.

Nothing registered until black boots filled her vision, and even then it was all she could do to collapse against Bane’s knees, leaning against the solidity of his body and leeching from him some of his warmth.

His lightsaber was still extended but she could no longer bring herself to care.

Something inside of her had _cracked_ , leaving her exhausted and battered. She didn’t even have the energy to draw on the power of the Force; she couldn’t even _feel_ it anymore, but if that was a cause for consternation it would have to wait until such a time she could properly examine herself.

The lightsaber moved closer and she flinched as the heat permeated the skin of her cheek, but she could not move. Bane was sturdy and powerful and the only thing keeping her upright, at the moment, was the fact that he hadn’t moved from where she had all but fallen against him.

Rocks beneath the palms of her hands began to sting and she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, but forced them back. Her Master hadn’t seen her cry since she was ten years old, and she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure now.

“If you’re going to kill me,” she panted, “just _do it_.”

The heat intensified and for one terrifying moment she thought he meant to follow through; she froze in place, ceasing even to _breathe_ as she closed her eyes. It didn’t help—through her eyelids she could still see that light of the saber passing over her, and she suppressed a final shudder.

Her life was in his hands...she _trusted_ that he knew what was best for them, and, more importantly, for the Sith. If she was no longer worthy, if she had incurred his wrath with no chance of regaining his favor, then there was no reason for her to live.

But the blade didn’t fall.

A moment passed, then two, and then she heard the distinct hiss of the lightsaber’s blade extinguishing. She would have sighed in relief if she had possessed the breath for it; as it was, she could scarcely hold herself upright any longer.

In the next moment, she didn’t have to.

Bane fell into a crouch, one knee against the ground as his strong arm slipped around her shoulder to hold her in place. Another hand, this one gloved, took hold of the sides of her face and forced her head up to look him in the eye.

If she didn’t know any better, she might have suggested the look on her Master’s face passed for something close to _concern_. His mouth was drawn in a thin, firm line and his eyes searched hers, the burning depths of them cooled to a glowing ember in which she still took comfort.

She stared back, trying and failing not to squirm despite her lack of strength. Bane’s scrutiny was legendary, and always made her feel as though she were on the business end of a powerful microscope. It was better than being ignored, but not by much.

“You thought I was trying to _kill_ you,” he said, his breath sending warm puffs of air against her face. It wasn’t a question, and Zannah nodded mutely.

“Why?”

The demand was too much. She closed her eyes, hoping to block out everything else about her Master that was overwhelming, but it was pointless; she may as well have tried denying the pull of a black hole. His hand tightened over the curve of her shoulder and she held in a gasp as the grip turned painful.

“ _Zannah_ , answer me.”

She let out the breath she had been holding and held on to the whimper at the back of her throat.

“You were displeased,” she gasped. “I-I lost your favor...on Ambria. You—“

“Ambria is behind us,” Bane interrupted, the rich cadence of his voice suddenly hot with anger. “Do not dwell on the past; you’ve allowed your insecurities to cloud your mind. This is not the way of the Sith.”

She knew...of _course_ she knew.

Shame piled upon shame and she didn’t think it possible to sink any lower in Bane’s eyes. That he wouldn’t simply _end_ her life was a cruelty she wasn’t sure she could forgive. If she was so weak, so _broken_ , then what was the point of keeping her around any longer? He said Ambria was behind them, but what did that really _mean?_

Her head swam with possibilities, but confusion tore through what remained of her comprehension and she lost ground to the overwhelming aches and pains that riddled her body.

Her Master was _warm_ and _near_ in a way he had scarcely been throughout her apprenticeship. With his arm around her and his thigh bracketing her side, she very nearly felt _safe_ , and leaned against his leg as though she intended to surrender to unconsciousness.

Just as soon as she did, however, Bane stood, dragging her back to her feet as he did. His durasteel grip on her arms alarmed her to the point of total consciousness and she stared up at him, distantly aware that she still leaned against his powerful frame as though she’d collapse without it.

She didn’t want to move and she didn’t want him to release her. The desire wrought more confusion on her mind, for she knew that the attachment would only be seen as weakness, and yet the Sith creed taught that _passion_ gave way to _strength._

She didn’t _feel_ strong.

“I’m tired,” she said softly, voice wavering. “Please, Master….”

She lifted a hand, but with no destination in mind it fell against Bane’s chest and her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, seeking something she couldn’t name.

“Take down the sheets,” he commanded. She didn’t dare look further than the square shape of his chin. “Make your bed and go to sleep; you’ve had a long day.”

It was the closest he had ever come to compassion in the last five years, but Zannah clung to his words and drew strength from the knowledge that she wouldn’t die by his hand—not today, at least. He left her then, standing on her own wobbly legs and feeling _impossibly_ older than her twenty-one years.

Drawing a deep breath, Zannah reached out to the Force in supplication, to ease to aches of her body and the pain in her soul.

She reached, but found nothing. Startled, she tried again, reaching further, drawing on her training like she had been taught for ten years, seeking out the familiar power of the dark side...but there existed only a void, a hole inside of her that made her want to _weep_.

What was _happening_ to her?

 


	5. Averseri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, I'm not gonna lie. There's a very large part of me that wants to explore the intimate aspect of their relationship--not sexual, but the easy intimacy that comes from living with another person for so long. I don't see them as being affectionate or soft with one another, but I do enjoy the idea that they are courteous and respectful of one another to a certain degree. 
> 
> I think Bane and Zannah have the potential for an incredible Master/Apprentice relationship simply because Bane was reliant on Zannah to be his eyes and his ears for so long on Ambria, and Zannah also respecting Bane as her Master to the degree that she does. There's a trust between them that extends past what the Sith claim to be 'adequate'.
> 
> Ugh. I love these two idiots so much.

Morning brought with it a brief storm, rain falling against the cockpit in steady waves that kept Zannah pacified in a deep sleep that had escaped her for most of the night. Her bed had been uncomfortable—too close to Bane’s, too open and too cold, despite the fresh warmth of her clean blankets.

Sometime after her Master had retired, she had taken her bedding and slipped into the cockpit, where she had made a nest for herself beneath the console and curled up like a wounded animal. There, she was finally able to fall into a light slumber that lasted until the early morning hours when the rains began, and she tumbled over the abyss and into the comforting embrace of the deepest of sleeps.

Zannah floated, free of dreams or nightmares, her command over her subconscious ironclad, as Bane had instructed her. Her body, relaxed for the first time in weeks, allowed itself the luxury of a soft reboot, kick-starting the release of chemicals that would aid in restoring damaged cells.

By the time she dragged herself back into the waking world, the rains had stopped and a layer of droplets covered the cockpit’s view-port. The chronometer told her that she had grossly overslept, but the soreness in her neck and shoulders, lower back and arms kept her from feeling too distressed about the oversight; if he had desired it, Bane would have dragged her outside and put her through paces until her hands bled from fresh blisters and she cursed his name.

The fact that he hadn’t meant he was either biding his time, waiting to ambush her the moment she set foot outside, or that he had more pressing matters to attend.

Hoping it was the latter, Zannah pulled on clean clothes—the only other set she owned—and went to collect her lightsaber.

Too late, she realized she had left it outside, wherever it had spun off into the night after her Master’s final attack. Dismay flooded her body as she hurried down the boarding ramp and dashed into the forest, legs burning with every step.

She searched the brush carefully, pushing aside the low branches of bushes and dragging her feet in the hopes of kicking the hilt, but to no avail. Not quite discouraged, she knelt down and closed her eyes, concentrating on leveling her breathing into a rhythmic pattern that aligned with the slowing beat of her heart.

In and out, in and out, one, two, three times.

She set her hands on her thighs and splayed her fingers, resting every muscle in her body. In her mind’s eye she conjured the image of her lightsaber, the silver, elongated hilt and the twin blades; she pictured the blade in all its detail and then pictured the hilt in her hand, remembering the smooth feel of its exterior and the exact shape in which she had designed it.

Slowly, without disturbing the rest of her body, her left hand turned over, palm upward and fingers extended. She envisioned the hilt in her hand, the exact weight of it, every groove and knob as it pressed against her palm and fingers. She recalled the first time she had ever held it in her hands, how _right_ it had felt, how _excited_ she had been and the pride she took in completing one of the hardest tasks her Master had ever given her.

She even thought of _him_ , of the rare smile he had given her when she approached him with the finished construct held out like an offering, and the delighted spark of desire that had flowed through her when he had ignited both blades.

That lightsaber was every bit a part of her as her arm—it was, in fact, an extension of her very _being_. She could not lose it, and so she pictured the weapon, wherever it was, and called to it, flexing her fingers as though coaxing it to come forward.

Through the Force she would have been able to locate and retrieve the weapon; she had done so hundreds of times before during training, and just last night. There was no reason why she should have failed, but as the minutes stretched and nothing happened, Zannah began to worry.

Last night she had suspected something wrong, but attributed it to her extreme fatigue and lack of energy. How many times had Bane warned her that drawing on the power of the dark side would only sustain her for so long before she was forced to rest?

There hadn’t been cause for concern beyond the usual frustration she experienced when denied something she wanted, but now, as she sat there in heightened awareness, she wondered if her fears were realized.

She dared not speak it into existence. The Force didn’t just _disappear_. There was no way she could have _lost_ her powers...and yet as she tried to draw on the dark side again, she felt that same emptiness from the night before, like something integral had been ripped from her being.

 _Don’t panic_ , she thought sternly even as her heartrate increased. _Panicking will get you nowhere. You just need...to find Bane._

But _no_ , she couldn’t do that.

If she went to him and asked for help, and he discovered that she had lost her connection to the Force, he would be moved to eliminate her. What good was an Apprentice who couldn’t even tap into the powers of the dark side? What kind of Sith did that make her?

 _He can help,_ she tried to convince herself as she clambered back to her feet. _He’s your_ ** _Master_** _, he’s not without reason. He_ ** _will_** _help. Just ask._

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to face him again with this newest embarrassment hanging over her head. If he had forgiven her for Ambria, this would surely undo everything.

Even if he _did_ understand what had happened to her, even if there _was_ a way to fix it, who was she to say that he wouldn’t see her as more trouble than she was worth? Her Master was still young, she realized. He could easily train another Apprentice to take her place if he so chose, and it would be within his right.

She needed to find her lightsaber; it was the only defense she had left against him. If he decided to kill her, the least she could do was make it worth his while and give him one last fight.

At least _that_ hadn’t been taken from her.

Back at the ship she heard the unmistakable sounds of activity coming from within the cabin and she steeled herself against her fear and silently boarded, unsure what to expect.

Bane had been gone when she had awoke, and while the fear of abandonment had still touched at the edges of her psyche, it was no longer as prevalent as it had been before. He wasn’t going to leave her, but all that knowledge did was eliminate one of the many possibilities he had in store for her. It put her on edge, kept her senses sharp as she prowled down the narrow corridor and into the common area they shared.

Her Master sat on the edge of his bunk, legs spread and elbows resting atop his knees as he flipped through one of his many books. He didn’t appear to notice her presence, but appearances were deceiving. Zannah cleared her throat and Bane looked up, unsurprised to see her hovering in the entryway.

“What is it?” he asked, cutting the chase that would have surely followed had he permitted her the first word.

Zannah scarcely noticed and clung to the door frame, trying to make sense of the lack of... _everything_ she now sensed. She couldn’t read him anymore, couldn’t feel his Force signature as she was used to it, all dark, broiling colors and so much power forced into too small a space. She couldn’t sense his mood, couldn’t read the burn of his gaze or the thin line of his mouth.

She felt, suddenly, blind and naked, for she knew her own defenses were also gone. If she was projecting her emotions, she wouldn’t be able to tell, but Bane would.

“I didn’t know where you went,” she said, the lie coming easily and falling clumsily from her tongue. She didn’t even try to believe her own words.

“To the city,” he answered, boring that familiar hole through her forehead with the heat of his gaze. “I had some inquiries to make.”

“Ah,” Zannah said, cricking her neck.

Pain shot up her spine and she grimaced, but held fast to her position. It felt like the only safety net she had at the moment.

 _Just get it over with_.

“Master….”

“Yes?”

“I...I can’t find my lightsaber.”

Bane stared until she was forced to relinquish her end, lowering her eyes to the deck and making a study of the rivulets, bolts, and weld lines that held everything into place. Her blood thundered in her ears and she wondered if her Master was able to hear it, as deafening as it was.

She wanted to look at him, but felt if she did he would suddenly know of _everything_ she was attempting to conceal. She half expected to feel the bite of his saber at any moment, and hoped her end would be quick. The mattress creaked as he shifted his weight and Zannah almost closed her eyes.

“You have been lax in your training as of late,” Bane said.

She couldn’t decide if he was upset and so she kept her eyes glued to the floor.

“I didn’t raise you to doubt yourself. You’ve been off your focus, drifting, wandering down a dangerous path. If there is something troubling you, _say so_. I will not help you unless you’ve made the decision to help your _self_.”

A click and hum and the room suddenly filled with the red light from the twin blades of Zannah’s saber. She gasped and started forward, wanting to snatch the weapon from her Master’s hands and cradle it to her chest, to feel its metal against her skin until she felt whole again. Three whole steps before she faltered, hesitating just long enough for Bane to notice.

He frowned and disengaged the saber, holding it out to her. Zannah accepted it with small, meek movements that were so unlike her it was almost frightening. She bowed her head, unable to summon the necessary words of thanks. Another painful spasm wore against her nerves and she bit her lip and clutched at the hilt of her saber until her knuckles turned white.

And of _course_ Bane noticed.

“Come here,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for discussion.

Zannah approached, her legs moving according to _his_ will, not her own; her wariness showed on her face, but she didn’t dare disobey. The moment she was within range Bane grabbed her by the hips, twisting her around and then, with a powerful hand, forced her to her knees between his legs.

She almost bolted, almost threw herself to the side in order to escape whatever punishment he chose to inflict upon her _now_ , and when his fingers touched the back of her neck she almost _cried_ out in fear...but then his touch pressed _in_ and _down_ and she felt a sigh tear itself loose from her diaphragm.

“Hold still and relax,” Bane murmured as his bare hands slid across the width of her shoulders, tugging her wide-necked tunic down until it bared her skin to him.

He took hold of her shoulder and began to knead a hardened knot of muscle beneath sharp knuckles; the pain was immediate, and Zannah tried to twist away, gasping as her nerves lit on fire, but there was no escaping _Bane_.

Reducing the spread of his knees so that her arms pressed against his inner thighs, he held fast, and Zannah felt _trapped_...but his hands moved against her in practiced, even touches that chased away the old ache from her tired, abused muscles and ushered in a new tenderness that coiled low in her belly, hot and cold at the same time.

This was something he had never done for her— _ever—_ but she could tell that he _had_ done it before.

The tips of his fingers dug into the space where her shoulder and neck met, hunting down painful knots as big around as Zannah’s fist. He dug _deep_ , rooted out those areas where she was most sore, most tender, and thoroughly abused her until the muscle felt as pliable as soft clay.

He leaned close, his breath hot against the back of her neck, his hands even _hotter_ as his thumbs aligned with her spine and swept upward, fingers tight and pressing over the taut skin of her neck and disappearing into the thick curl of her hair.

She bit her lip again, this time to silence the sudden moan that threatened release.

Bane had never given her this, but she couldn’t be bothered to question it. She wasn’t about to take it for granted, either, but leaned back, insisting on more pressure, more _pain_ , more of his powerful hands on her body to chase away her uncertainties and fears.

His touch receded back down her spine and traced the pattern of her ribs against her back; she almost protested the sudden lack of skin-to-skin contact, but bit her tongue when his knuckles started rolling against her lumbar muscles.

“You’ve lost weight,” he said. Zannah struggled to comprehend his words.

“I’m fine,” she managed.

“You’re driving yourself to distraction and you’re not eating. Don’t think I haven’t taken notice. You manage to conceal _nothing_ from me, despite your pitiful attempts.”

There was nothing he could have said that could have torn her from the slow onslaught of his fingers, the movement of his knuckles as he systematically located and unraveled every part of her that _hurt_.

She wanted to take his hands and guide them inside of her, to the empty space in her gut where everything was _agony_ , and she wanted him to fill her with his presence, with his powerful connection tot he Force, with his words and his voice and _everything_ that she worshiped, but the thought revived in her the ugly realization that it would never be the way she wanted it.

He _wouldn’t_ , and she would never allow herself to be the catalyst to _his_ downfall.

“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” she hissed as Bane found another ball of tight, angry muscle and worked it free. “Navigating the Outer Rim isn’t easy, and I’ve been...worried about you.”

“My well-being has no bearing on you; tend to your own needs and I will tend to mine. Your attachment betrays your intent.”

Zannah laughed haggardly, leaning forward on her hands to encourage Bane’s attention to her lower back.

“My attachment betrays only that I don’t want to _lose_ you before my training is completed,” she forced herself to say. Stringing together coherent sentences was difficult when his hands dipped low like that, even worse when they went _high_ , fingers massaging at the base of her skull and twisting her hair until pins and needles shot up her scalp.

“I told you I just...I need _more_. You still have so much to teach me.”

“You’re not wrong,” Bane said.

She _swore_ she detected a hint of humor in his tone, but she couldn’t have turned her head to look even if she wanted to; his hand was buried in her hair, his thumb working the spot behind her right ear and his fingers massaging the spot behind her left.

If he was using the Force to guide his movements, she couldn’t tell, but he was managing to hit _every single_ source of discontent in her body.

Well... _almost_.

“Teach me something,” she gasped, when he brought both hands to the base of her neck and dug his thumbs so deep she thought he meant to pierce her skin. “Anything. _Please_.”

Bane was silent for a moment, though his hands never ceased their movements.

“Tell me what you know about Darth Revan,” he said.

Zannah took a deep breath and recounted everything she had ever learned about the ancient Sith Lord who had, during his lifetime, accomplished more than what some people were capable of in a thousand lifetimes.

She recited the history of his life, his fall from Jedi grace into the power of the dark side, and his inevitable reclamation of the Light. She couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice in the end, but knew better than to discredit Revan’s teachings. Her Master was inordinately drawn to Revan, though for what reasons she didn’t understand. He had never offered her an explanation, and so she hadn’t asked.

“Revan’s holocron was the first one I found,” Bane said after she had finished speaking. “It was through his guidance that I determined to destroy the Brotherhood of Darkness. It was through him that I found _you_.”

Zannah shifted and fought the urge to turn around. She wanted to be able to see his face while he spoke, but to do so would be to give up the press of his hands.

“Revan taught that the transformation brought upon us by the dark side is a change not many are willing to accept,” Bane continued, shuffling his legs and allowing her the freedom of movement once again.

“Its power is unlike anything else; it defies explanation and cannot be contained, or stopped. Those who _desire_ it, who are willing to wholly give themselves over to that change and devote themselves to the dark side are the only ones who _deserve_ to be touched by its power.”

“I don’t fear change,” Zannah said, even though she felt it as a lie pressing down upon her lungs.

“Do you? It is only natural to fear what we don’t understand. Fear is not unwelcome, as long as we master it, and turn it into a tool for _our_ use.”

“Like anger.”

“Like _any_ emotion. We are not Jedi—we do not shy away from what we _feel_ , even if the feeling is distasteful. The Jedi lock themselves away in their temple and they teach their padawans that there is no emotion, only peace. We know that to be false. Look at the world around us—look at the state of the galaxy. We are constantly at _war_. There is conflict in every sector, but the Jedi think peace is a term they can apply liberally to the Core as a whole, but only after they’ve stepped in.”

“The Jedi _promote_ war,” Zannah agreed, finally twisting around to look at her Master’s face. “They’re hypocrites, bending to the will of the Republic as it suits their needs, but never the needs of the individual.”

“The ‘greater good’ is what matters most to them,” Bane said, smirking. “The individual slips through the cracks and falls into despair, but the Jedi turn a blind eye to the plight of those who are most in need, so long as the needs of the majority are held to standard.”

“Does this mean we fight for the individual?” Zannah asked, though she already knew the answer.

Her Master was never so animated as he was when he fell back on the philosophical teachings of the Old Masters; more than anything, she loved to listen to the history lessons he imparted on her, and as a child, the sound of his voice and surety with which he shared his knowledge had been a great source of comfort.

“No,” Bane said patiently, as though he knew what she was aiming for. “We fight for _ourselves_ , and to further the Sith agenda. One day, the Sith _will_ rule the galaxy. It won’t happen in my lifetime, and it might not happen in yours, but still we persevere, accruing knowledge and power until the mantle is taken over by another, more powerful Sith.”

“Me,” Zannah said, her eyes bright and shiny in the dim reflective light of the cabin. She leaned closer, her shoulders again brushing the insides of Bane’s thighs, confidence swelling within her chest. “ _I_ will be the next Master.”

“ _If_ you are capable of destroying me, then yes,” Bane said, suddenly stern. “Which you won’t be if you continue to neglect your studies _and_ your health.”

Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue (which would earn her a sharp slap and countless laps around the clearing), Zannah huffed a sigh and pressed her cheek to her Master’s leg. He stiffened beneath the sudden touch.

“One day,” she said, holding his eyes with her own, “I _will_ defeat you.”

“One day,” Bane sneered, “you _might_. Until I have such confidence that you will succeed, you are _still_ my Apprentice.”

She was glad for the reassurance, though that wasn’t Bane’s intent. She still held onto the memory of his hands against her skin and the heat of his chest so close to her back, the warmth of his breath and the hard muscle of his powerful thighs against her arms.

The emptiness within had returned in full-force, gaping, _yawning_ inside of her like it meant to swallow her alive, collapsing her in on herself until she winked out of existence. It frightened her, and for all her Master’s talk about the power of one’s emotions, she couldn’t find the necessary path to channeling her fear into _hatred_.

What was the point, if she didn’t have the Force to back her actions?

Her brief reprieve at Bane’s feet had done nothing to solve the problem, his lesson too short and the content already beyond familiar. There was nothing to further occupy her thoughts.

She sat up on her knees, settling her hands on the top of Bane’s thighs. He hadn’t moved from when she had pressed her cheek to his leg, and now he looked at her as though she had grown another head.

Zannah didn’t know what she meant to accomplish. He was so close and she had felt so _safe_ , sitting between his legs, corralled on all sides by his power and strength. She didn’t want it to end, but neither did she know how to ask for more. Her fingers curled, her short nails scraping over the fabric of his trousers.

He was so powerful, so _sure_ of himself that it invited envy into her heart. Was he keeping something from her, some secret that could give her back her ability to control her errant thoughts? She would suck it from his skin if there was. She’d supplicate herself beneath him and beg him to fill her with everything he had and everything she desired if it meant chasing away the uncertainty that had taken root in her very being.

She didn’t want soft philosophies that she already knew forward and back; she didn’t want debate or tests.

She wanted...she wanted _Bane_ , in all his dark power, eclipsing her and shadowing her with his might until some of it rolled off in excess and fell down to her. She’d lap at whatever droplets he chose to feed her, if only it meant that this torment would _end_.

“Master…,” Zannah began, sliding her hands the short distance to his belt. “Let me….”

 _Let me return the favor_ , she thought, finishing in her head what she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud.

Bane stood up, bowling her over with the suddenness of his movement. Zannah sprawled against the floor, her hair caught painfully beneath her shoulders and her elbows smarting from where she had tried to catch herself. She looked up at him, expecting to incur his wrath for forcing her desires on him, but his expression was a neutral mask of indifference, and _that_ , somehow, was _worse_.

“When do we leave?” Zannah asked, forcing strength into her voice.

“We don’t,” her Master said, stepping over her prone form. “Ciutric will serve our purposes for the time being.”

A stone fell through the hollow center of her, and Zannah blanched.

“Master?”

“We’re _staying_. Ciutric IV will be the new base for our operations...it will be our _home_.”


	6. Clamoris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a short chapter here, but from here on out it's fun stuff. The next three chapters are my favorite ones. Thaks again for reading guys; hope you enjoy!

Zannah ran until her lungs felt as though they would collapse inside of her, until the muscles in her thighs and calves burned and screamed for reprieve, until her heart caught in her throat and her vision swam, but she refused to slow down or stop.

Stopping meant _thinking_ , and she didn’t _want_ to think.

Her lightsaber bounced against her leg as she leaped over a large rock set in her path, hitting the ground on the other side a lot harder than she would have otherwise; without the aid of the Force to guide her movements, even though it was broad daylight, she felt as though she were running while blindfolded.

But that was good.

Forcing herself the see the world through her own eyes instead of the Force kept her from focusing on Bane, it kept the spark of rage locked away inside of her, until she was ready to deal with it on her own terms.

She didn’t want to be blindsided again, no more _surprises_.

There was a certain stability in running—left foot, right foot, left, right, left, right and breathing just the right amount to send oxygen to her muscles, pushing herself farther and harder than she had recently. She felt as though she _had_ to run.

Sitting still would have killed her, or driven her mad. The camp had turned oppressive, choking her with the sense of failure and fear, and so she had left, sprinting from the ship and ignoring the demanding shout of her Master, ordering her to stop. She hadn’t cared in that moment. It was all she could do to get away from there, from _him_ , and to let her feet take her wherever they wanted.

Had Bane really wanted to stop her, he would have caught up with her in a matter of minutes; she was no match for his speed without the Force to augment her abilities. She would accept punishment upon her return...and the fact that she could say that, without fear, was a good thing.

It _was_ good, she determined, eyes flicking ahead of her, trying to discern the easiest path. This was good and it was helping. _Something_ had to help….

Bane certainly hadn’t.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but picture him.Zannah didn’t know what to name the elusive emotion she currently felt for the man. Betrayal came close but she lacked the necessary conviction to turn the full scope of her wrath toward her Master.

She knew he had done it on purpose, had taken her to her knees and used his hands to ply her into something soft and sleepy and receptive, had broken down her defenses until she was vulnerable and _weak—_ _s_ _tars_ , she had been so _weak—_ and then had hit her with the revelation that they _weren’t going to leave_ , and what else did he expect of her?

Her thoughts ran ragged. She had felt like a fool after he had left, like a breathless little _girl_ crushing on the unattainable and it was so _stupid_ of her to think that Bane would have been kind to her for the sake of compassion, or by the virtue of years spent at one another’s side.

_Foolishly_ she had allowed herself to believe that he had shown her a softer side of himself, that this gentility would somehow make him more receptive to her touch...but she knew better, now.

Bane was right, as he was in all things. She had neglected herself in all the ways that mattered. She had allowed herself the weakness of _attachment_ , of worrying about him like he wasn’t capable of taking care of himself, of what he _thought_ of her when she _knew_ he wouldn’t have wasted his time leading her on if he truly believed her incapable of carrying on his legacy.

For all his patience and for all the years spent training her, she knew without a shadow of doubt that the moment he felt her no longer worthy of the path he had set her on, he’d destroy her.

_I’m expendable_ , she told herself through the anger billowing in her heart. She latched onto it, chasing the dark emotion with every intention of reclaiming her identity.

She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know _why_ it had happened, but the Force would evade her grasp no longer. If she had to run a thousand kilometers, if she had to hunt down every single one of her insecurities, if she had to peel herself apart, layer by layer until she found the source of her vexation, she would do so if it meant she could once again hold the power of the universe in her hands.

Bane would approve, she thought, vaulting over the massive trunk of an ancient tree that had finally fallen to age and rot. She had expected him to hold her hand and show her the way out of the veil of darkness that had fallen over her senses, but he would never respect her if she begged him for help.

He might _not_ have helped her, she realized. If there arose an opportunity for him to teach her a lesson, surely as the sun would rise in the morning, Bane would take advantage of it. He had done so many times before, especially if the lesson proved _important._

And yet, she had permitted _fear_ to rule over her, had given herself up to _what-ifs_ and probabilities without taking into account that everything she felt, everything she held onto, went against _everything_ he had ever taught her.

She had defiled the core teachings of the Sith, and she had _lied_ to her Master’s face, had hidden from the changes in her body as though it were something to be ashamed of. She should have owned up to them, should have seized control and refused to back down.

Had she only taken a stance against her fears and wrestled them into submission, she wouldn’t be in the position she was now.

She had _touched_ him, with fear and uncertainty tainting her motives, and she didn’t need to see it on his face to know that he must have been _disgusted_ by her.

Hot tears escaped her eyes and swept down her cheeks. She tasted them in the edge of her mouth, salty and wet, and she permitted herself to cry, but clung to her anger through it all.

She would not be _weak_.

She would _never_ cry again. She wasn’t a child and she wasn’t going to sit in their camp and drag herself around like a shade, useless and empty. She’d prove to Bane that his faith in her wasn’t misplaced. She’d _give_ him something substantial, some proof that he had not chosen unwisely.

Her conviction had wavered, those first few days in space, after Ambria. That was where doubt had crept in. Zannah snarled at herself, skidding to a stop before the edge of the forest thinned out.

Why hadn’t she seen it? Why had she turned a blind eye to what had happened, when it now appeared so _obvious?_ She had been strong before, had looked her Master in the eyes and told him she would kill him on her own terms, _not_ his.

Where had _that_ woman gone?

_I’m still_ ** _here_** _,_ she thought, fighting the small, scared part of her that wanted to just curl up in a ball and _die_. _I’m not going_ ** _anywhere_** _. I’ll follow you into the dimensional void if I have to, but you’re not going to cast me out and you’re_ ** _not_** _going to leave me behind._

Tendrils of despair licked at her heart, but she was too furious, too hot and alert to allow it to gain a hold of her. Her tears dried against her skin and her eyes shone with an intensity she had been lacking the past few weeks. Every muscle in her body felt primed for a fight, every tendon in her hands pulled tight like a band waiting to snap.

Zannah wanted to feel someone’s throat beneath her boot.

She wanted _pain_ and she wanted to _feel_ as she had prevented herself from doing out of _fear_.

_No more_.

_She_ was in control.

Not her fear, not her anger, not even _Bane_ had hold of her here. She would take back what was rightfully hers: the Force, her _power_ , her elegance, her burning _rage_ , and she would armor herself with the certitude that this was _her_ choice and no power in all the universe could again rob her of her ability to plot her own course.

Whatever her Master thought of her, he could keep. What she thought of _herself_ was more important, and she believed in her abilities, her training, all the years spent toiling beneath her taskmaster of a teacher, everything leading up until this point.

_Through passion, I gain strength,_ she thought to herself. _Through_ ** _strength_** _, I gain_ ** _power_** _. Through power, I gain_ ** _victory_** _. Through victory, my chains_ _will be_ **_broken_** _. The Force_ ** _will_** _set me free._

She closed her eyes, drawing deep from herself, sending her conscious thought outward to seek out a connection, something familiar and tangible that she had lost.

The pull of the Force was unique for everyone, she found. Bane said it felt like a storm crackling beneath his skin, electricity pulsing through his bones, power beyond imagining at his fingertips; Zannah had felt the Force as something cold and dangerous, a wet glide against her insides, like oil, like wet shimmersilk, and she missed the sensation of tapping into the raw power of the dark side.

She reached out and tried to _grasp_ at something, _anything_ , but...still, the shape of the Force eluded her. It was _there_ , just beyond her fingertips. She could _feel_ it, like the crest of a wave in the distance, close enough to see and desire, but too far away to make her own.

Zannah dropped to her knees and screamed her frustration into the dirt, her hands curled around the back of her head, nails sinking into her skin and pulling at her hair. Tears threatened again, but she wiped them away with an angry swipe of her hand, refusing to let this be her undoing.

What was _wrong_ with her?

It would have been easy to succumb to the crushing agony of her failure; she saw, now, how she had fallen before. The allure of giving up was strong, so easy it was almost effortless. All she had to do was lay down and rest her eyes. All she had to do was relinquish her rage and her frustration and allow sleep to take hold for just a little bit.

With sleep would come clarity of mind and she could wipe her feelings away and examine everything from a fresh point of view...but that wasn’t the way Bane had taught her.

To be critical, _yes_ , to have some measure of self-introspection, yes, but not at the cost of giving up on everything she _felt_. He never once allowed her the luxury of letting go of her emotions, not even when they overwhelmed her.

_‘Your anger makes you strong_ ,” he had told her, during their earliest days together. _‘Others will tell you that if you don’t let go, it will consume you,_ _causing you to_ _make decisions that you will come to regret. The_ ** _Jedi_** _would have you believe that your anger is a catalyst to hate and suffering, but that is because they don’t believe themselves capable of controlling their emotions,_ _and would rather blame their mistakes on an intangible force than take personal responsibility.’_

_‘What do we believe?’_ she had asked, still possessing of a child’s curiosity and clinging to the belief that this man who had saved her was there to look out for her best interests. She would have accepted anything he told her as the word of the gods.

_‘We believe that our emotions_ **_are_ ** _a catalyst, but one that leads to immeasurable power. Through the strength of your anger, your hatred, even your_ **_fear_ ** _, you are capable of accomplishing_ **_anything_ ** _. The key is learning_ **_control_ ** _. If you allow your emotions to run amok, unchecked, the power of the dark side will consume and destroy you. Only those who have the strength of will to fight back, to_ **_seize_ ** _that power for themselves and name themselves master of their own destiny, are capable of wielding it. Do you understand?’_

_‘No,’_ she had said. _‘I don’t like the way I feel when I’m angry; I say and do things I don’t really mean...my cousins said I can be_ _cruel_ _.’_

_‘That is because you do not yet know_ ** _control_** _,’_ Bane had said, ever patient as he sought to imprint his teachings on her young, impressionable mind. _‘In time, you will learn. You will practice every day, and every day you will grow stronger and stronger. What was it you felt in the field of Ruusan, when you killed those Jedi?’_

_‘_ _I was mad,’_ Zannah had said, hot anger flushing her body as she had recalled how the two padawans had unjustly shot her bouncer guardian. _‘They killed Laa! She hadn’t hurt anyone and they didn’t even try to talk to her. They just...they_ ** _killed_** _her and I wanted them to_ ** _suffer_** _for it!’_

_‘And_ _in turn_ _you killed them,’_ Bane had supplied with a wry grin. _‘Without control, you snapped their necks with the force of your anger. You lashed out, not with intent, but the potential for harm was already there. Imagine what you could be capable of if you learned how to_ ** _harness_** _that power.’_

_‘...will you teach me?’_

_‘Yes.’_

Zannah breathed in the dark, cool scent of the earth and pressed her forehead as far to the ground as she could, clenching her hands in the grass until she tore it up by the root in fat clumps. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe, but held fast to the sharp edge of her anger, filing it to a point and aiming it inward, at her own weakness.

She was every bit as strong as her Master said she was when he had first found her. She was _powerful_. She was Apprentice to _Darth Bane_.

She was, and forever would be, _Sith_.

The cold clutch of fear fled from her body as her blood ran hot, too hot for her skin, and she groaned, pressing her forehead to the earth as if to draw its coolness into her body and temper the rage she felt.

Controlling her anger, molding it into a weapon was all well and good, but without her access to the Force, she had no release. It sat in her stomach, a burning clump of molten ire, festering like rotgut and burning her from the inside out.

She felt sweat across her back, plastering her tunic to her skin, and couldn’t tell if it was from running or from trying to expel the energies that gathered inside of her. The feeling spread throughout her core, _infecting_ her with its insistent presence, until it settled between her legs like a spark waiting to take flame.

With a gasp, she arched away from the ground; her tunic brushed against her nipples, taut and peaked from the exertion of culling her rage into something more potent, and suddenly she realized there was still one more option left to her.

If she couldn’t fight it out, if she couldn’t draw it out, then she could at least try to _fuck_ it out.


	7. Lubido

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter. Honestly. Easily one of my favorites. Thank you again for reading, and I promise from here everything starts to get steamy! Poor Zannah. I honestly just enjoy torturing her XD.

Mid-afternoon caught Jex unawares and he answered the door to his apartment still wiping sleep from his eyes, shirtless and withhis pants slung dangerously low across his hips. Zannah hadn’t waited for an invitation, but pushed her way past him into the dark of his apartment, looking around as though deciding if this was adequate for her needs.

“Mornin’ to you too,” Jex grumbled as she took in her surroundings.

That he sounded irritated wasn’t a concern of hers; she had nothing to apologize for and he would soon be compensated for having wasted his time last night.

His apartment was relatively nondescript. There was a couch, a desk, some shelves that held simple curios and a few books, and a kitchen. Another doorway led to what she assumed was the bedroom and fresher, but she didn’t think she needed to make it that far.

“How’d you even find me?”

Zannah shrugged.

“I asked around,” she said.

The truth of the matter was a little more complex, but she didn’t think Jex would be too thrilled with how she hacked into the hangar terminals and located his personal information from his landing records...or the fact that she now knew had made several suspicious jumps to unknown locations after loading up his cargo hold with unmarked containers that hadn’t been accounted for beyond their number.

His private bank statements told her nothing that she hadn’t already suspected at that point, just the usual story of a smuggler caught up in too much debt and the Banking Clan lording it over him. She also didn’t think he’d care to know that she had saved copies of those files to her personal data-chip, just in case.

He _had_ picked her pocket, however, and she couldn’t find it within herself to pity the man.

It had taken her less than a minute to decide that Jex would be the best candidate for what she intended to do; though their original plans had fallen through, she knew he would prove a willing participant once they made it past the awkward formalities required by social standards.

It was easier than seeking out someone else and taking the time to flirt and coax and woo her way into their bed. Currently, she didn’t think she possessed the patience for it.

Her blood felt as though it were on fire, every nerve and vein alight with the desire to feel someone between her legs, hot and living, something she could pour all of her anger and hatred into without fear or remorse, fucking herself against them until she found her release.

Maybe then... _then_ she would be able to reclaim her connection the Force.

The Iktotchi leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his bare chest, glaring at Zannah. She turned to him, adopting a somber and penitent expression.

“I didn’t intend to wake you,” she lied, her mouth forming the pretty shape of vowels with an accented lilt that some men found alluring, but didn’t come across as too much. “I...just wanted to see you. I’m... _so_ sorry about last night. Something came up that I couldn’t pull myself away from.”

“Yeah, well, it happens,” Jex shrugged, not moving from his position. “I figured I’m used to it. What’s one more rejection on top of the pile?”

“It _wasn’t_ a rejection,” Zannah said, taking a step forward. “Truly, I had every intention of meeting you, I just...my guardian was worried, and I couldn’t leave him. He’s...very particular about my activities.”

“He sounds great,” Jex sneered, and she began to see the cracks in his carefree facade as he allowed his indignation to take hold of him. She had a good feeling that he wasn’t always the perfect gentleman he had originally come across as. _Good,_ she thought to herself _, good, that’ll make this so much easier._

“I didn’t choose him, but he’s all I have left,” Zannah sighed, running a hand through her hair. “He’s family...and he cares about my well-being. He just didn’t want me running off into the night with some guy I met only once. I tried to tell him you were okay, but...well, he thinks he’s my brother, and he insisted I stay in.”

“You’re a grown woman,” Jex said, looking her up and down. “Seems to me like you can take care of yourself.”

There was a suggestion of a challenge in his tone, but instead of rising to his bait Zannah pressed forward, letting him _believe_ that she was properly contrite. She pouted, clasping her hands behind her back and swaying gently in place, as though she were expecting a scolding.

“I like to think that too,” she said softly, looking up at him through her lashes, “but...right now, I could use a little help.”

Coy and innocent, that was how most men liked their women, equal parts virgin and pleasure slave. Jex couldn’t have been more easily manipulated than if he were dangling on strings. She watched as a revelation dawned across his face and his sneer dropped into a predatory grin. He approached, his gait a near prowl, and tilted his horned head in mock confusion.

“Help with what?’

“Things,” Zannah breathed in a shaky whisper. “I...was thinking of you all night.”

“Oh? You were?”

She couldn’t tell if his surprise was genuine or not, nor did she care. She took another step forward, a peace offering in trying to meet him halfway. She could practically _smell_ his lust, the way his eyes dilated and the sudden hitch in his breathing. The rise and fall of his chest increased and she allowed her eyes to fall to the hemline of his trousers, where she could see the barest outline of his cock as it began to grow hard.

_Men._ They were all the same, deep down.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, biting her bottom lip. She brought her hands out from behind her back and made a show of playing with her fingers, as though she were nervous. “I-I know you’re busy...and I know I don’t have the right, but...I was hoping….”

“Hoping for what?” Jex whispered back.

He was very close to her now. If she reached out, she’d be able to touch his shoulder, and she hoped his skin was as burning hot as it looked because she wanted nothing more than to pin him beneath her and press her entire body along the length of his.

He was a tool, a means to an end; what she felt for him extended no further than what he was capable of doing _for_ her, and he was _all too easy_. It was, in a way, almost disappointing. There was no fight, nothing beyond the limp dialogue she had provided, knowing what each of his answers would be, knowing how easy he’d be to coax into bed.

This wasn’t a challenge, she decided with some disappointment. It was hardly even _fun_ , but it was better than her own hand, and it was certainly better than _nothing_.

“To make it up to you,” she said, raising her eyes to his. He was close enough now, and she reached between them and grasped at him through his pants.

He came undone at that action, snatching at her arms and pulling her close for a kiss that was equal parts sharp and soft as his pointed teeth pressed against the insides of his lips when he covered her mouth with his own.

Zannah allowed herself to be swept up in the motion, curling her hand around his length and squeezing when he jerked her against his body. He was all hard muscle, which was good, and he kissed like he knew what he was doing, pulling back for a breath of air before attacking her again, urging her mouth open and slipping his tongue past her lips.

She wove her other arm beneath the sharp curve of his horn and around his shoulders, clinging to him with the barest hint of desperation, all the while tugging and pulling him closer to the couch; she didn’t have the patience to make it to the bed. Whatever fueled Jex, a similar fire burned within Zannah, climbing her ribs and torching her lungs until she panted against Jex’s face, the tip of his horn catching her cheek in a way that almost broke the skin. That she was saddened it hadn’t wasn’t a surprise.

Her lover came alive beneath the steady stroke of her hand, groaning into her ear as he tugged her tunic over her head and threw it to the floor. Jex’s thick hands cupped her breasts with a gentility that almost made her _spit_ , but then he was lowering his mouth to her and the sharp promise of his teeth culled her impatience.

He licked at her, testing, and when she raked her sharp nails from the middle of his back to his shoulder he pressed forward, taking a nipple into his mouth and plucking at it with lips and teeth until Zannah began to feel the harsh curl of pleasure uncoiling from her intestines.

Jex wasn’t forceful enough for her tastes; she wanted him to throw her onto the couch, rip her trousers apart, and fuck her like there was nothing holding him back. She wanted to feel him inside of her, wanted his teeth to _bleed_ her, wanted his horns digging into her skin as he lavished her with attention, and she wanted those thick fingers of his shoved so far up her cunt she’d feel the pain long before she felt the pleasure, but he wouldn’t _move_.

The Iktotchi seemed content to lap at her breast like a babe, fondling her slowly, kissing her with some passion but clearly intent on drawing this encounter out far longer than necessary. As wound up as she was, it wouldn’t take her long to get herself off if she took matters into her own hands, and so, when the flick of his tongue turned into _not enough_ , she quickly took hold of his arm and flipped him over her hip, landing him right on his back against the couch.

Zannah fell on top of him immediately, yanking his pants down past his erection with one hand and working the clasp of her belt with the other.

“Whoa,” Jex said, momentarily stunned by the speed with which she had manhandled him into position. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I rarely kid,” she said tersely, working his length over hard and fast. Jex moaned and stretched, closing his eyes. Leaning forward, Zannah threw her hair over the flat plane of his belly, hiding her face as she took him into her mouth, laving him with her tongue and soaking him with her saliva.

She didn’t want to take things _slow_ , she didn’t want this to be _gentle—_ she wanted a violent coupling, bloody and vicious, and she wanted to feel it for days after, through bruises and bite marks and an ache between her thighs that she could enjoy knowing that she had achieved something for herself.

She _deserved_ this.

“H-Hey,” Jex panted, maneuvering the drape of her blonde curls away from his stomach so he could watch, “slow down, there’s— _ah—_ no need to rush. It’s not a competition.”

_That’s what you think_ , Zannah thought as she pulled off of him with a wet _pop_.

“I’m just eager,” she said, dropping the false accent and flashing Jex a roguish grin. He gaped when she leaned up towards his face, pressing a messy kiss to his open mouth. She licked into him, catching her tongue on his teeth and moaning when she tasted blood. _Perfect_.

“You don’t wanna move to the bed?” Jex asked, wide-eyed and hungry for her. His hands grabbed her hips, sliding around to cup the curve of her ass and drag her forward.

Zannah knocked one hand away and folded a knee beneath her to strip off her boot and one leg of her trousers. She didn’t bother with the other, letting it slouch against her ankle as she busied herself with pushing her underwear to the side, so desperate to feel the hot length of him inside of her she didn’t even notice when he came away from her hip with her lightsaber clutched in his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over in his palm.

Zannah looked up and froze in place when she saw her weapon being casually hefted about like child’s plaything. It must have fallen from the clip when she had undone her belt. All of her desire turned cold in that instant, as though she had thrown herself into an icy stream. Her breath caught in her chest, burning, _pained_ , and she reached for the hilt.

“Give that back,” she whispered, as stiff as stone when Jex thumbed the button on the side.

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked, playfully, like it was a joke.

_Stop that,_ she thought, eyes wide as he jerked it out of her reach.

“It’s mine,” she said— _whimpered_.

_Pathetic_.

“It’s a _lightsaber_ ,” Jex laughed. “Isn’t it? I thought only Jedi carried these.” His eyes went wide and he barked out a laugh, curling his other arm around her waist. “Stars, are _you_ a Jedi? Please say yes, it’ll make this all the more interesting.”

“Stop,” she tried, reaching again. She couldn’t move past the pressure Jex asserted across her back, and she dropped back down against him with the curve of his cock trapped between his belly and the crease of her thigh, no longer the welcome instrument from before, but a nuisance that she wanted nothing to do with. Jex hissed at the contact, arching his back in enjoyment.

“You’ve got more than a few secrets,” he said, voice thick with lust. Zannah tried to push away from him, but he was stronger than she gave him credit for.

Too late she realized that he had exercised gentility because it would have been all too easy for him to _hurt_ her accidentally. The band of his arm over her hips was like durasteel and she began to struggle.

“Get off of me,” she snapped. “Let me go, that’s _mine!_ ”

“Hey, calm down,” he said, pinning her with a leg over the back of her calves, trapping her more thoroughly. “I’m not gonna break it, I was just looking.”

“ _Give it to me!_ ”

The more she struggled the harder he held her down. She tried to get her hands between them, prepared to dig her nails into the sensitive flesh of his erection until he screamed and released her, but he intercepted her arms and managed to wrangle both her wrists into his hand; free from the oppression at her back, Zannah sat up and tried to pull away, but the damage was already done.

Jex looked at her with renewed interest, something dark in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a cruelty to his smirk that she wished she hadn’t been too blind to pick up on.

“I gotta say, this wasn’t what I expected when I opened the door,” he hissed, shoving her against the other end of the couch and following her on his knees.

“Before I was just being polite; Iktotchi don’t go around prying into people’s minds because that’s seen as ‘insensitive’ and a ‘violation’...you were so guarded anyways, I couldn’t even get into your head if I wanted to. I didn’t think it any loss, and then you showed up _here_ , like _this,_ and...well, now you’re just _asking_ for it.”

Zannah snapped a curse as he forced a kiss on her, his horn gouging her cheek, deep enough to draw blood, though this time the effect was lost on her as she kicked at his stomach, aiming for between his legs. If she could incapacitate him long enough to _drop_ him….

“So let’s see...not a Jedi,” he grinned against her lips, “obviously, ‘cause they don’t run around throwing themselves at people like this...and you’re not a bounty hunter because I know the type and you _definitely_ don’t fall under that category….”

Blood dripped down her cheek and seeped under her chin. His weight was against her shins, her legs folded to keep distance between her body and his, but he pressed against her with such insistence that she knew she wasn’t going to be able to break free.

Between the two of them, she knew he was more physically powerful. What she lacked in muscle mass, however, she more than made up for in speed and agility. He was still languid from sleep, his mind addled with lust, and he was looking at her like he wasn’t at all concerned that she had been carrying a lightsaber. He was strong, but he wasn’t that bright.

“Now, I take offense at that,” Jex said in direct response to her thought, and Zannah blanched.

“Did you forget that my species is telepathic?” he asked, condescension dripping through his tone. “Or did you not know? Like I said, I normally keep it under wraps, but you...you’re practically broadcasting. What _are_ you?”

“If you let me go and give me back the lightsaber, I’ll leave and I won’t say anything about this to anyone,” she said, desperate to be free of his touch and his mental probing.

She couldn’t _feel_ him reaching around her brain and plucking at the strings, but the fact that she was open and unguarded frightened her. She was helpless before this mental siege, helpless like Davorit had been before she struck him down with her sorcery. She hadn’t known what nightmarish images had pierced his psyche, but they had driven him instantly insane.

This wasn’t the same, wasn’t anywhere near the same level, but the knowledge that Jex was casually rooting around her brain disgusted her, _violated_ her, made her feel as though she would never be clean again, never rid herself of his touch; in that moment, she would have preferred it if he had simply held her down and raped her, rather than desecrate the sanctity of her mind.

“You’re not going anywhere for a while,” Jex laughed. “Now that I’ve got you, we’re going to finish what we started, and you’re not going to say a word to _anyone…_.”

He paused and tilted his head again; she realized it was a tic of his that indicated he was using his abilities. His eyes glazed over the same way Davorit’s had, but there existed a keenness behind the veil, a brutal intelligence as he looked through her thoughts.

Desperately, Zannah tried to think of nothing, tried to fill her mind with the inane sort of drivel an average woman her age might have enjoyed.

“You’re trying too hard...I can tell you’re trying to hide something. If you’re not a Jedi and you’re not a bounty hunter...then what? A politician’s daughter, maybe? A runaway slave? Slaves couldn’t come by a lightsaber, though, and certainly not one like this.”

He released her hands and sat back on his heels, pressing the button that activated a single blade. Zannah stared, watching it twist in his grip as he tested it out, praying he knew better than to press the button again, which would activate the second blade; positioned as they were, it would cut right through her leg.

“Nice,” he whispered in appreciation. “I might keep this one for myself.”

“It’s not _yours_ to keep!” Zannah snarled, reaching for the handle before he could cause any damage. Jex stopped her with a meaty hand in the center of her chest, his reach longer than hers, and shoved her back.

_No! Stop!_

“It’d be a shame if I had to ruin that pretty face of yours any more than I already have,” Jex snapped, his good humor apparently at its limits. “Keep fighting me and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

**_Kill him_**.

Zannah tried to draw on the Force, one last futile attempt to reclaim that piece of herself she felt was just within her reach. Jex pulled apart her legs and leaned over her, his breath hot and stagnant against her collarbone. She closed her eyes and grimaced as he nipped his way between the shallow valley of her breasts and down her stomach.

There was nothing there, _nothing!_

What vestiges she had felt earlier, in the forest, eluded her now. There was only the void, empty and deep, and the heat of Jex’s mouth against her skin.

He thought she was just going to lie back and take it? That this was how this all ended, according to _his_ whims, and _his_ desire? Like _he_ was the one in control?

He chuckled against her belly and she knew he had heard her indignant thoughts, but she was past the point of caring. His horns were cool against her skin and he nudged her legs apart with his shoulders, pressing kisses to her knees and the inside of her thighs.

_Why?_ She asked herself, staring at the dull ceiling while Jex buried his nose against the crotch of her underwear, inhaling deeply. Why was this happening? Why couldn’t she just...why couldn’t she just _do this?_ The Force was still _there_. She knew it...and yet, _this_ was all that was left for her? A few mistakes and an unwanted lover nipping at her underwear?

Stars, she hadn’t even had the foresight to conceal her _lightsaber_. This was the second time in as many days she had lost control of a situation.

_Help me_ , she thought, to no one in particular.

_Help yourself,_ the thought bounced back.

_How?_

_Remember your training._

She thought of Bane, of everything he had taught her, of all the times he had dragged her through grueling training, countless katas, perilous tasks, and she tried to remember every revelation she had ever had under his tutelage, every spark of realization that had only made her stronger. She thought of the books he had given her to study, the massive tomes of sorcery he had gifted to her with the encouragement to focus on her strengths.

He had always been there for her, not in the way she wanted but in ways that _counted_ , and his teachings had never failed to spur her to further heights, to become stronger and more resilient.

If he saw her now, what would he think?

_You don’t_ **_care_ ** _what he thinks, remember? This isn’t about Bane...you have to help_ **_yourself_ ** _._

_‘_ _The power of the dark side will elude those who are not strong enough to possess it; this is the underlying principle of the Rule of Two. Those who accept the power of the dark side must also accept the challenge of holding onto it.’_

Suddenly, she found herself ten years old again and kneeling before her Master as he imparted upon her everything he had learned from Darth Revan’s holocron.

The words were his own, but the teaching had been passed down over the course of a thousand years. He had built the idea into her head, rewiring her until the understanding that she would one day be expected to kill her own Master was no more unusual than anything else about their lives.

It wasn’t some great secret—it simply _was_.

_Those who are not strong enough_ , she thought to herself, distantly aware of Jex’s teeth worrying a hickey into the flesh of her hip.

In that moment, with her mind cast back in time to her ten-year-old self, crying against the cooling body of her beloved Laa, she knew what she had to do.

“Jex,” she said, her voice oddly calm. “Jex, if you don’t stop...I’m going to kill you.”

He bit into her thigh with no preamble, this time his intent to cause _real_ pain. Zannah flinched and her flesh jerked against his teeth. She could feel blood trickling from between his lips, felt his tongue swathe across the wound as he pulled back, amusement in his eyes.

“Kill me?” he echoed. “I doubt that. You’re just a little girl; what could _you_ possibly do to _me?_ ”

“All sorts of things,” she whispered, staring him right in the eye. He looked taken aback at her sudden lack of spirit, and this time, when he peered into her mind, Zannah permitted him to find _exactly_ what he had been searching for.

“You’re...a Sith?” he asked, confused. “But...the Sith are dead. The Jedi wiped them all out at the Battle of Ruusan, ten years ago.”

“Not all of them,” Zannah said. She forced a smile to her lips and reached out to touch Jex’s face. “It’s a pity you’ll never live to see our plans come to fruition.”

He almost asked a question, and she almost let him.

Within seconds, she had wrapped her strong legs around his head, suffocating him between her thighs. His horns tore into her unprotected flesh as he twisted, but this time Zannah had the element of surprise on her side. When his hands came up, she grabbed his wrists, digging her thumbs deep into the tendons and muscle until she felt something _give way_.

Jex’s scream muffled against her skin and he threw himself back in an attempt to dislodge her, but she held tight to his arms and allowed his momentum to carry her back. Her lightsaber clattered against the floor, its blade gouging a blackened line across the thick duracrete.

The moment Jex tried to push her away with broken, ineffectual hands, Zannah rolled off and onto the floor, scooping up her saber and twirling it expertly across her body. Its heat didn’t frighten her, the danger it held bringing her comfort and ease as she stared at her tormentor, collapsed against the couch and holding his damaged wrists to his chest, angry tears dripping down his cheeks.

_Pathetic_ , she thought, and this time it wasn’t aimed at herself.

He didn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death, but the longer Zannah lingered, the more she felt like her heart might beat out of her chest. Bane wouldn’t have taken his time, and he had often complained that she cared too much about style and showmanship. She normally never agreed with him on the matter, but in this instance she knew it was within her best interests to end this as quickly as possible.

“It’s a pity,” she said, speaking only just loud enough to be heard over the sound of Jex’s violent whinging. “I was looking forward to this. You were my first choice.”

He could barely speak, his mouth moving without forming words, his tongue a useless, thick lump in his mouth, filling the back of his throat and inviting hyperventilation with every passing second. His cock had softened between his thighs and her blood smeared across his chin and lips.

It was a prettier red, she thought, than the color of his skin.

Holding out her saber, she pressed its activation button a second time, allowing the twin blade to emerge from the other end of the hilt. Perhaps realizing that his life was forfeit, Jex threw himself on his knees before her and clutched at her legs, his fingers slipping through the blood from the bite he had inflicted on her.

“P-please,” he stammered, eyes wildly searching her face for a hint of compassion, “please, h-have mercy! I-I wuh-won’t tell a-anyone! I-I swear! I’ll disa-disappear! You’ll never s-s-see me again!”

This was how she had wanted him, broken and begging at her feet, but not for his life. Not _quite_ like this. She raised the blade, spinning it along her side before bringing the tip of one of her blades against the curve of his horn. Jex stiffened and leaned away, his throat working in small convulsions.

“You’re not going _anywhere_ ,” she said in cold repetition of his earlier words to her. “In fact...you’ll never go anywhere, _ever_ again.”

Her blade cut through his body from his left shoulder all the way down to his side. His mouth opened in a scream, but she jammed her hand over his face and shoved him backward, sawing him open and cauterizing flesh and intestines. He severed at the point of his waist, where she finally pulled free, and watched as he flopped onto his back, thoroughly, and _finally_ dead.

_Through victory, my chains will be broken._


	8. Advorsus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fun chapter to write; I'm really bad at fighting scenes in general, but I felt really good about this one, which is definitely a first for me. Once again, thanks for reading and for sticking with me this long! We've got another two chapters to go before the end!

Bane met her as she broke through the line of trees headed into their camp, struggling to push the hover-crate in front of her; it was well over its weight limit and scraped against the uneven ground when she wasn’t paying close enough attention. Zannah had purchased it in a hurry and hadn’t had time to give thought to the terrain. It was a miracle enough that she had made it this far without the whole thing toppling over.

The moment she saw her Master approach, her stomach bottomed out and she instinctively reached for her lightsaber, now firmly reattached to her belt. Even if she couldn’t read the exact pitch of his mood, she would know that hulking stalk anywhere—he was _furious_ and barely trying to conceal it.

She half expected him to reach out for her through the Force, either to fling her away or drag her close. She could practically _feel_ the phantom caress of fingers at her throat and knew that he was probably restraining himself.

For the first time, she was glad he was no longer under the influence of the blood rages his orbalisk armor had inflicted upon him.

That didn’t mean he was any less terrifying, or dangerous, but Zannah held her ground, tightening her grip on her saber and tilting her sharp chin up at him in defiance of his rage, prepared to argue her case if he would permit her the opportunity.

Running from him had been her first mistake. Not the touch, because she knew she would do it again; differently, though, with the intent to follow through, with confidence and surety because that’s what would be expected of her. Fleeing like a _coward_ , though, that was the unforgivable offense.

She knew Bane, and she knew he would have chosen never to speak of what happened in the _Loranda’s_ cabin, for it had no bearing, no meaning to him. No, he’d address her flight, first, and demand to know where she had gone and why she hadn’t obeyed his demand to return.

She had her answers prepared, had thought long and hard about what she would say that would see her through this inevitable encounter, preferably alive. It had taken hours to complete the slow journey back to the camp with the hover-crate in tow, and it had given her plenty of time to reflect—about Jex, herself, about Bane, about Ciutric IV, and their future.

Her heart still flooded with distress at the thought of remaining planet-side. She felt they were still too close to the scar Ambria had left upon them, the rift that had set them at odds for the first time in ten long years.

But if she had learned anything throughout the course of her apprenticeship, it was that Bane _always_ seemed to know what he was doing, always worked six steps ahead of everyone else, and envisioned the future as though every event were personally shaped by his hands. She couldn’t afford to doubt him, and that was where she had made her second mistake.

The running had been in response to anger, but the _doubt_ _—_ the doubt had crept in and made her question things to which she, as the Apprentice, had no right. Her duty was to learn, to observe and grow, even if her Master chose to conceal from her his long-term plans. That was the way of the Sith.

Bane slowed his gait as he drew near, frowning at the state of her. The trousers she wore were different than the ones she had left wearing, three sizes too big and one leg bloody on the inside of her thigh. The tunic was also too big and hung off her shoulder, revealing the bruising high on her back where Jex had pinned her to the edge of the couch.

His eyes caught the jagged wound on her cheek, black with the seal of hardened blood and surrounded by another dark bruise. Zannah stared back, her eyes hard and glittering, her lips drawn in a thin line.

Neither Sith said anything.

Then, Zannah turned to the hover crate and threw the lid off, revealing the gory contents to her Master. Inside, Jex’s severed head stared up from atop a pile of his own limbs and torso, wrapped in a large plastic mattress cover she had ripped from his bed. His eyes, glossy now with death, rolled toward the sky, his swollen tongue peeking out from behind lips gone dark with the early stages of decomposition.

Nonplussed, Bane reached into the crate and withdrew Jex’s head by a horn still tipped with Zannah’s blood and turned it over for appraisal. Zannah chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper on her tongue, waiting for him to break the silence.

“Who was he?” Bane finally asked, his voice glacial.

“Some pilot from the city,” she replied. “He outed me as Sith; I was forced to kill him, to preserve our secrecy.”

“How did he manage that? Were you concealed?”

“He’s Iktotchi, a telepath. I was caught off guard and he glimpsed the detail in my mind. I should have been paying closer attention, Master, forgive me.”

Humility was the Jedi way, but admitting to one’s mistakes was simply good practice, she had found. Bane would reprimand her, force her to train all day and night, battering at her mental defenses until she collapsed, but it was a small price to pay in order to conceal the full scope of the truth.

Her Master didn’t need to know _everything_ that had transpired between her and Jex, and she didn’t dare let on that her connection to the Force had been broken, allowing the Iktotchi to pry his way into her mind to begin with. A lie was easy, and with only her account to back up her claims, he had little choice but to believe her word.

“And he will not be missed?” Bane asked, leaning over the crate and staring at the rest of its gruesome hold.

“No—he was single and lived alone. I left no evidence behind.”

“What of his ship?”

“He didn’t actually own any; the ones he flew were on loan from various banks and he had already defaulted on his payments. I have the proof on my data-chip. You can check for yourself and see.”

“I believe you,” Bane said, dropping the head back onto the pile. Using the Force, he levitated the cover back on top and deactivated the miniature repulsor-lifts that kept the entire platform afloat.

“You _will_ finish cleaning up your mess. Bury it, eject it into the sun, I don’t care. You will leave _nothing_ behind of this.”

It didn’t seem like he was going to rebuke her. Perhaps he had seen something when he looked into her eyes, and despite everything he had taught her, perhaps there was some small part of him that was still human enough to feel a spark of compassion for what she had been through.

That’s what Zannah _wanted_ to believe, but she knew the truth was much more simple and cruel. Jex had been weak, and she had proven her strength in killing him. If she had died, she would have deserved it. Bane didn’t need words to express this—it was the truth as they knew it, a truth of the universe itself.

“Yes, Master,” she said, inclining her head.

“This is the second time you’ve come close to undoing everything I have worked for. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were attempting to sabotage my efforts.”

His eyes were hard, and the icy touch of fingers on her throat was back, more potent than before. Zannah swallowed uneasily.

“I wouldn’t presume to believe myself ready to take on the mantle of Sith Master,” she said. “I still have so much to learn, as evidenced by this lapse. I want to resume my training, under your guidance, as soon as possible. I want to prove myself to you, so that you will never have reason to distrust me again.”

The fingers tightened, ropy tendrils of invisible force that coiled under her chin and around her neck, lifting her on her toes. She choked on a gasp, unable to draw breath, but Bane allowed her to hang there, her boots scuffing the ground and her hands clutching at the unseen constriction.

“I will _always_ distrust you,” he said. “We, who are designed to betray one another, will _always_ have that between us. Do not forget your heritage, your _destiny_. I did not bring you all this way to watch you succumb to fantasies borne of _compassion_ and _attachment_. You cannot erase what we are, and what we will become. We are _Sith_. What is our goal?”

“T-to pass on our l-legacy!” Zannah croaked, pedaling her legs against the air. “To e-ensure th-the _purity_ of our l-line!”

“Power, for power’s sake,” Bane amended, his hand emerging from his cloak, fingers curled as though they were wrapped around her windpipe, crushing the breath from her lungs. “Only those who are strong enough to survive are worthy of the title ‘Darth’. It is our job to ensure that the future of the Sith Empire will not fall into the hands of those who are too weak and nearsighted to grasp the enormity of our vision. You are right to submit yourself to me; were you to make an attempt on my life this early, you would be cut down before you had time to consider your options.”

“Your l-life will end on _my_ terms,” she managed to gasp, with the last of the air in her lungs. “U-until then I—I—“

He dropped her like a sack of rocks, watching her fall to her knees, panting and gasping and clutching her throat with the desperation of a woman trying to convince herself that she was still alive when she had no right to be. It was the first time Bane had ever punished her to this extent, using the Force to subdue her, _humiliate_ her.

Whether he intended to _break_ her, though, remained to be seen.

Zannah threw her hair over her should and glared up at Bane, her hand still cradling her neck.

“I’m not leaving,” she spat. “No matter what you say or do to me, no matter what you _think_ about my motives, you’re never going to rid yourself of my presence. Not until _I’m_ ready. On that day, you’ll fall to _my_ blade, and _I’ll_ become the Master.”

It had been the right thing to say. What skepticism remained dropped from his expression as he nodded in full acceptance of her proclamation. For Bane, her words hadn’t been any different than what she had promised him back on Ambria. To him, she was simply repeating a fact that he had known all along. She couldn’t tell if he had actually believed her, but she was alive.

That was enough.

_It’s not over yet,_ she told herself as she climbed back to her feet. There was still one last thing she had committed herself to seeing through to the end.

Zannah removed her lightsaber from her belt and held it at arm’s length, igniting both blades and spinning the hilt in a showy circle.

Bane, only having just turned away from her, swiveled on his heel, the look on his face not unlike the one he had given her when he first thought she had deceived him. It made her shudder, the way his lips drew back in a snarl.

_You_ _ **betrayed**_ _me,_ she heard the echo of his voice in her head.

_Not yet_ , she thought back, silencing the sudden flash of doubt. _Not today. Not like this_.

“Spar with me,” she called to him, jerking her chin in a challenge. “You were right—it’s been too long.”

Several things passed over Bane’s face in the next few seconds—confusion, distrust, suspicion—but none touched her as deeply as the expression he adopted in the end, that feral look of a man anticipating a challenge and looking forward to it.

Unlike the last time, Zannah felt her body respond viciously to the slow movement of his hand as he unclasped his cloak and retrieved his own saber, a state of arousal that left her already breathless, her blood once again running hot and adrenaline spiking its way through her limbs until she felt capable of _anything_.

Bane ignited his blade and, before he could make the first move, Zannah flew at him, her feet barely touching the ground as she attacked with a flurry of strikes meant to preoccupy her opponent with forming a messy defense; it was a sequence from Form V, but one that transitioned smoothly into the solid defenses of Form III.

She could tell that she had surprised her Master, which was a rare feat indeed. Taking pleasure from the small victory, as well as courage, Zannah pressed forward, keeping her footwork light and her choices open. The moment she left an opening, Bane would seize the opportunity and counterattack.

She didn’t allow herself to consider the Force, or her inability to summon a shield. She had already thought about this, had followed it through to several ends that all culminated in her death.

Sparring with Bane while Force-blind was as good as suicide, but she _needed_ to do this, for her sake.

It was a feeling she couldn’t explain, a desire that had given birth to an idea still clouded in uncertainty, but Zannah knew that no matter the outcome of the match, it was critical that she _try_. What was reward without the risk?

Her blades spun as she leaped at Bane, driving him further and further back, utilizing every trick she had ever taught herself, every combative maneuver she had practiced thousands of times over, every sequence that took hold of her muscles and followed through as though programmed into the meat of her flesh and the grit of her bones.

She moved like flowing water, like a raging river, her gymnast’s body twisting and curling in ways she knew her Master could not hope to duplicate. It was to her benefit, she knew, and her blood ran hotter with every step back Bane was forced to take.

She caught glimpses of his face while she pressed her advantage, fascinated first by his surprise, and then the pride he failed to conceal. Her attack had him on the retreat, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that she was actually _beating_ him.

He was holding back, curiosity having taken over his desire to spar, and he was watching her form closely, calculating his next move based on the procession of her sequence; he knew the katas as well as she did, and though he favored Form V, Zannah knew he could just as easily turn the tables on her and beat her into the ground using many of her own moves.

_That_ was what she wanted, the slow disintegration of his extraordinary self-control.

She wanted him to come at her like he had while still suffering from his blood-lusts, for him to forget that she was his Apprentice long enough for it to _mean_ something.

She wanted his strikes to come at her from all angles, unpredictable and filled with the shatter-strength of a hundred arms swinging down at her at once. She wanted him hot and sweating, pushing himself and pushing her to their absolute limits. She wanted to forget the imbalance in the Force, forget _everything_ until it was just the two of them, their sabers, and the solid ground beneath their feet.

She had never wanted _anything_ in her life so _fiercely._

Recognizing the telltale signs of fatigue, Zannah finally forced herself to back off, dropping into a defensive position, her saber held adjacent to her hip. Her heart pounded against her insides, her lungs filling with as much air as she could inhale without panting, but she felt _alive_ and _focused_.

This what she had been seeking, this feeling of completion, of fulfillment, that spark of vitality that she had been missing ever since they had left behind their previous home.

_Can you feel it?_ She wanted to shout at her Master. She wanted him to understand, without words, what she felt, what she _needed_ from him. She wanted this to be the salve that healed the wound, that obliterated the last of her fear and her doubt, that restored his faith in her. She _wanted_ this, and she would have died, in that moment, to achieve it.

Bane hit her so hard she almost faltered, but instead of backing away in retreat, Zannah grinned and faced him head-on, catching his next blow with the end of one of her blades and throwing it to the side, deflecting as he had taught her. He struck again, slower, heavier this time, the entirety of his weight behind the blow, and she redirected again, both hands on her hilt, dropping to her knees and throwing the momentum of the attack to the side.

Bane pitched forward and Zannah swept her leg out, hoping to catch him, but her Master dove into a somersault at the last moment, rolling into a crouch and redoubling his efforts.

She countered to the left, the right, blocked low, then high, deflected almost too little too late and the acrid scent of singed hair stung her nose and eyes. Bane reached out and shoved her back, the hand in the center of her chest large enough to frame her neck in the ‘V’ of his thumb and forefinger.

She stumbled backward, almost fell, but corrected her footing in time to catch another volley of strikes that hit too close to the hilt of her saber.

Now it was she who was forced into a tight defense, backpedaling with all the grace she could muster under the circumstances. Sweat dripped down her back, blurred her vision, and she only had seconds in which to duck her head and wipe her eyes against the tunic riding up against her neck, but she managed without meeting her end.

Bane’s skin appeared dry in comparison, the true show of exertion reflected in his eyes. He was completely focused on her, the path of her blade, the position of her dominant hand, and the set of her feet.

He wasn’t playing games, but neither had he unleashed the full force of his attack. Zannah suspected he never would, and she was at peace with that fact. It was a problem for the future, during a time that such details would need to be taken into consideration.

He was exceeding her expectations as things stood, refusing her any further gain on ground, leading into her tricks and obliterating her defenses with the single-minded intent of _victory_. He advanced, dragging the tip of his blade against the earth and incinerating a swath of grass into ashes.

Zannah felt as though she had swallowed her heart and there, just beyond the veil, she could _sense_ it.

_The Force_.

It was _there_ , just on the other side of the haze that clouded her mind’s eye. This time, it was close enough to _touch_ , and she closed her eyes, sending herself outward, towards the siren pull of the dark side….

“Pay _attention!_ ”

Zannah threw herself to the side just in time to avoid the downward cleave of Bane’s lightsaber; the tip of the blade clipped the side of her arm, burning through the tunic and searing her skin. She yelped and clutched at herself, the warmth of charred skin beneath her palm. Pain ripped up her bicep, enough to incapacitate the average human, but Zannah was far from average.

Right now, she felt far from human, too.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she drew it into herself, allowing it to darken and fester; the fear it inspired, fear of more pain, of failure, of _death_ _—_ she seized _all_ of it, scornful of its power and no longer willing to remain its slave.

She took her pain and her fear and she _crushed_ it into something more potent, the jagged spearhead of fury that carved a path from her insides out, and she _exploded_ with it, sprinting at Bane and hurling her blade at his face, his chest, his legs, anything she could to gain the edge that would grant her a score.

He battled patiently, playing his blade against her own, twisting around her to elbow her in the side of her unprotected head, through an opening she had allowed in her effort to cut him off at the knee. Hot pain flared through her temple, but immediately assimilated into the vortex of her rage, burning so black and deep she thought it would consume her from within.

With Bane distracted by her attack, she reached out again, her eyes open wide and her lips drawn in an acid smile.

_Peace is a lie, there is only_ _ **passion**_ _,_ she recited to herself.

The veil shifted.

‘Y _ou must seek power above all else, with no reservation or hesitation,’_ Revan’s teaching rang through her head. The words were like a song she had heard long before, the tune of an ancient melody she hadn’t necessarily forgotten, but one which had remained buried within her heart as one of those universal truths that didn’t need to be spoken into existence. She grasped at it now, clinging to the words as she felt them flow through her.

_‘The dark side offers power for power's sake._ _You must crave it._ _**Covet** _ _it.’_

Her Master flung his hand outward and an invisible force struck her stomach, bowling her head over heels across the ground. Fresh blood sprung from the scrapes on her knees and palms, her chin a torn, bloody mess by the time she picked herself up from the ground and scrambled for her lightsaber.

Bane was on her within seconds, slashing away as she rolled onto her back. Barely able to bring her blade up in time, it was all she could do to withstand the force of his barrage. He was far too powerful, she realized. She had no chance of beating him, not for many years to come.

That was why she needed him.

That was why she _desired_ him.

She wanted his power, she _craved_ his knowledge, his connection to the dark side, she _coveted_ everything he was and everything he would ever come to be.

_Can’t you feel it?_ she cried out to him from the confines of her mind. _Can’t you see what it_ _ **makes**_ _us?_

_‘The dark side is emotion,’_ her Master’s voice called back to her. _‘Anger, hate, love, lust. These are what make us_ _ **strong**_ _. Peace is a lie, there is only_ _ **passion**_ _.’_

Sparks showered over her head as Bane’s blade finally found its mark, carving off a corner of her hilt and destroying the integrity of one of her blades. It extinguished itself immediately, and she flipped the hilt around, redirecting his next blow into the ground, mere centimeters from her face.

_‘The dark side will transform you, change you in ways that are both frightening and euphoric. Accept the transformation, or it will destroy you.’_

_I do! I accept! Let. Me. Be._ _**FREE!** _

The veil moved. It curled in on itself and dissipated like fog to the sun. Zannah reached out, mentally and physically, and this time, she _felt_ it, the Force flowing through every vein, every fiber, welling up inside of her until she felt herself capable of moving the entire planet, if only she felt the need.

She folded her fingers and tilted her wrist, thrusting out at her Master with the flat of her palm, and he jerked off his feet, flying backward and landing on the ground in a heap.

Zannah released her saber and rolled herself onto her hands and knees, stumbling to her feet and then half jogging, half limping over to where Bane lay. He was already sitting up, his lightsaber clenched in his gloved hand and a sharp grimace on his face that denoted nothing good. With a thrill traveling up her spine she utilized another Force push and ripped his weapon out of his stunned grip.

The expression of shock on his face was going to sustain her for a _month_.

Zannah choked back a sob as she all but threw herself against him, her weight insignificant against the bulk of his body, but enough to carry them both back against the ground.

He looked up at her, his gaze cruel and accusing, his mouth clamped shut in that way that made her unsure if she wanted to punch him or _bite_ him. Straddling his waist, Zannah reached for her Master, fisted her hands in the loose material of his tunic, and dragged herself down against him to crush their mouths together.

 


	9. Agitavi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The Fuck Chapter. This thing is like my Horcrux, so...I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading, and thanks especially for making it this far!

He tasted like _power_.

Zannah ran her tongue against his lip and drank in hisdarkness; she pressed open-mouthed kisses against his chin and breathed in ash; her fingers met with his jaw and his skin sweltered like molten plasma. Why was his heat not unlike that of a furnace, threatening her with the promise of blister and ruin?

Why had she never noticed before now?

Starved for the touch of him, she moaned against his lips, pressing against him with an urgency that outstripped her ability to inspire the same in him.

There was no substitute, she realized, no comparison between her Master and _anyone_ she could ever hope to seduce into her bed. The realization only cemented the infallibility of her choice and she kissed Bane with teeth and tongue, biting at his lip when he opened his mouth, sucking from him the words he might have said to put an end to this sweet and bitter torture.

The solidity of his hands around her upper arms constricted; he pushed her away, his breath rattling through his throat as he crushed her beneath the intensity of his crimson gaze, the light in his eyes so bright, so hot, she felt them scorch a path across her sweaty skin.

_Burn me_ , she thought, looking down her nose at him as though he couldn’t break her in half across his knee.

For a moment, it almost appeared as though he would throw her to the side. Bane’s fingers dug into her flesh, the nails of his bare hand biting her skin and cutting into the fresh burn on her bicep. Desire flooded her body, heating her core until she felt as though she might _melt_ beneath her Master’s touch.

_**Burn**_ _me_.

Slidingher fingers beneath the hem of his tunic, she sought out his skin and felt it flush beneath her sweaty palms, hard with thick muscle he wore like armor.His body responded to her touch, despite the way he held her at bay, his abs tensing and flexing as she dragged her nails over his flesh.

“ _Zannah_ ,” he said, his voice a deep, ragged thing that felt to her as though it had clawed its way out of his gut. “What are you doing?”

What was she _doing?_ Wasn’t it obvious? No one else was ever going to come close to satisfying her needs. No one else carried themselves the way Bane did— _none_ had his force of presence. _His_ passion was all-consuming, his ambition like a knife’s edge, and the potential he held within _terrifying._ Her lust may have clouded her perception, but she _knew_ this was what she wanted.

And, despite his questioning, there was nothing in his eyes that said he wanted her to _stop_.

“ _Claiming_ what I desire,” she hissed.

Her soul bared itself to him, reaching through the Force to offer herself up to judgment; everything she felt, everything she _wanted_ in lavish display so that he could finally _see_ what it was that drove her. _His_ power, _his_ strength, his _body_ melded with hers until she could no longer tell where one of them began and the other ended.

She wanted his cunning mind and his sharp teeth, his bone-deep conviction and his rough hands—everything that made him _Bane_ , she wanted to claim for herself.

He couldn’t hide the look that crossed over his face and his eyes turned to liquid fire as one hand left her shoulder to grasp the back of her neck, the leather of his glove creaking against her skin when he pinched and pulled. Zannah arched her back, hissing with pleasure. She felt the tiny hairs at the edge of her scalp twist and break beneath his heavy-handed grip.

“And what is it that you desire?”

His breath was against her throat, hot and heady. She clenched her thighs against his sides and rolled her hips down against him, leaving no question as to what her answer would be.

“ _Y_ _ou_.”

_P_ _ride_ _—_ suffocating and black—rolled against her conscious mind before his teeth scraped against her throat and took hold, biting her with a ferocity she had only _hoped_ to expect from him. She cried out, bunching his tunic in her fists as pain _flared_ straight down her spine and into her cunt.

She was wet, already, _stars_ , he could have done anything to her.

His tongue flicked against her pulse as it fluttered, she felt her skin  _break_ beneath the pressure of his canines, and _yes,_ this was what she had been missing.

Freeing her limbs from between them, Zannah threw her arms over Bane’s shoulders and clutched at his shirt, pulling it up until she could rake her nails against his bare skin. She would carve into him the shape of her needs, spell out her lust against each rib and bury her victories along his spine.

She would mark him as he marked her, his bite turning into a searing kiss against the juncture of her jaw that pulled her from her musings, and she met him with frenzied passion, seeking his bloodied mouth with hers.

Zannah clung to him, rocking into his belt, wanting to feel the hard length of his cock dissolving her from the inside out. She moaned into the kiss, throwing every inch of herself into the drowning pool of his mouth, then drew back and finished divesting Bane of his tunic.

He flung it to the side and peeled off his glove, reaching for her again and tearing the fabric from her body. It shredded beneath his touch, the act so wildly desperate it made her clench as wet heat soaked through her underwear.

“ _Gods_ ,” she gasped when he touched her again, the bruising strength of his hands against her ribs more than she had thought herself capable of handling. She almost went limp when his fingers took hold of a taut nipple, pulling on it as though he intended to rip it _off_.

“ _Bane—ah!_ Master, _please..._!”

This was what she wanted, what she had spent the last two days _denying_ herself as if her passion was something to be ashamed of. _This_ was what she had so often dreamt about during those formative years spent mapping the stirrings of her body, her fingers seeking herself out in the dark and imagining that it was her Master who instructed her in the fine art of self-discovery.

There was no shame here, plastered against him now, sweat and dirt and blood gluing them together.

Zannah sank her nails into Bane’s pectoral, digging sharply into the tender skin of his areola and _twisting_. He released her mouth and growled hotly against her cheek, retaliating with the catch of his teeth that reopened the deep wound she had received from Jex’s horn.

“ _Ahh!_ ” she cried sharply, rising up against him.

Her groin ached with the strain; Bane was far too wide to comfortably straddle, and she shoved at him, clambering to her feet to lead the way to the cabin aboard the ship. She wanted him away from prying eyes, away from the remotest possibility that someone might stumble upon them and interrupt the moment. Aboard the _Loranda_ they were safe—there, she could do _anything_ to him.

But her Master had other plans and surged to his knees, grabbing at her belt and using it to pull her back to him. She leaned against his hold, the high she received from impeding him almost as potent as the tang of his blood on her tongue. Bane yanked her off her feet, catching her against his shoulder. His lips stole along the curve of her hip and she pushed at his face, fingers dancing against his cruel mouth as though they were enough to deter him.

He bit at her, teeth capturing the knuckles bloodied during their battle. His tongue laved between the joints, sucking the blood from her skin. Zannah sucked in a harsh breath and, on impulse, slapped down at him. The flat of her palm caught his cheek, the force of the blow snapping his head to the side.

She froze for a moment, instantly terrified she had crossed some invisible line. Striking her Master during a fight was one thing, but she had no frame of reference for _this._ Vibrations arced up her arm, originating from the sharp sting in her palm. When Bane looked up at her with a wicked grin, however, she immediately dismissed the fear, bending down for another suffocating kiss. She could drown in him like this, with the way his mouth consumed her under the threat of leaving nothing of her behind; if she could find a way to climb into his dark soul, she would have, willingly and eagerly.

Bane’s fingers hooked between the band of her trousers and skin. Zannah quickly reached down to undo her belt and the over-sized garment dropped down her legs like a weight—like she had been set free from a pair of shackles. Her boots followed the way, kicked off into the dark.

He wasted no time the moment she stood bare before him, his hands and mouth everywhere as he devoured the surface of her skin, his tongue licking the salt from her stomach and his teeth branding her with the imprint of his fervor.

It was the other way around, she thought through the fever pitch he drove into her; _he_ was the one molding her, shaping her into what _he_ desired. In spite of what she wanted, or perhaps _because_ of it, Bane was slowly wrangling from her the reins of control. She was _letting_ him, and couldn’t feel too terribly for it.

Zannah clawed at his neck, trying to pull him off the ground to drag him to the ship in one last, futile attempt to find a measure of comfort apart from the dirt and sparse grass, but he resisted, wedging a solid arm between her thighs and fitting two fingers around the crotch of her underwear.

His knuckles brushed her labia, that first touch almost incapacitating. Her knees gave out and she slumped against him, propped against his shoulder while he pulled the garment from her legs.

“ _K-Kriff,_ ” she swore when those same two fingers returned to push inside of her, no warning to prepare her for the intrusion. She was so wet though, the slick ran down and moistened her thighs, easing the way for Bane to thrust his hand against her, jacking into her opening with single-minded intent.

Battle-hardened through years of training and abuse, his fingers were already long and thick to begin with, and his sword hand callouses slipped against her sensitive walls like fine sandpaper. The contact was _electrifying_ , almost as though she could feel the storm Bane had so often described to her, crackling just below the surface of his skin. It was all she could do not to clench down on him and _cum._

The faster he drove his hand against her, the higher she climbed, until she could no longer restrain herself from the moans building up within her throat. He was so _rough_ , the pacing so _brutal_ she didn’t understand how _anyone_ could take pleasure in this, even as she raised up on her toes to chase the beginnings of an orgasm flickering between her thighs.

When her Master pressed his thumb _hard_ against her clit, Zannah threw her head back and _screamed,_ her nails catching his jaw and drawing four thin lines that quickly beaded with blood.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Bane laughed, as he shook her off, the timbre of his voice low and dark, so _composed_ it made her want to cut him in half.

He had no right, no _right_ to smirk at her like he was, his fingers buried to the last knuckle inside of her while he sat on his _knees_ at her feet. He had no right to take this moment from her the way he had, but like all things, her consideration was not privy to his plans.

When he moved, her role was merely reactionary, the landscape of her body shifting to the whims of the earthquake that was _Bane_.

Furious, Zannah balanced her weight on one foot and tried to kick him in the ribs in retaliation, but he caught her leg and maneuvered it over his broad shoulder.

Her heart came full stop when he leaned in and pressed his face against her mons pubis, her eyes going wide at the sight of her Master nosing apart her folds and dragging a rough tongue against her slit.

“ _Oh, fierfek_ ,” she moaned breathlessly, scrabbling for a hold against the back of his neck. She couldn’t look at him when he did that, but neither could she force herself to look away. In this, Bane’s movements were long, slow, and _deliberate,_ the reach of his tongue impossibly _deep_ as he breached her entrance.

Kelad’den’s skills as a lover had proven impressive; he had always seen her needs met before his and Zannah could recall quite a few toe-curling orgasms found beneath his practiced hands and mouth. She had kept him the longest, taking full advantage of his heightened libido as often as she could and when he had been killed she had felt nothing except for disappointment that she would be forced to find another man to take his place.

She had worried, at first, that she wouldn’t be able to find someone who measured up to the standard Kelad’den had set, that no one else would come to know her body as quickly and easily as he had.

How _wrong_ she had been.

Bane swathed his tongue across her slit like he was searching for something, sweeping deep and curling against her moist lips, taking her flesh between his teeth and _sucking_ until she whimpered.

Nothing he did to her was _kind_ or _gentle_ in the way Kelad’den had been. The Twi-lek’s fervor for her had burned bright, but Bane’s passion eclipsed every distant memory of his touch, like a star gone supernova. The overwhelming _presence_ of him was suffocating, as though with every move he dragged her further into him and farther from herself.

Losing to her Master was nothing new, she thought as she cradled the hard line of his jaw, grinding against him in the hopes of trapping his tongue against her clit. He had always been as a force of nature to her, a storm sweeping across the land, cleansing it of its impurities. Was that what he was doing to her, purifying her body? Purging from her those fatal emotions that refuted all attempts to chain her to the dark side?

“ _Oh_ ,” she moaned softly when Bane inserted his fingers beneath his chin and pressed against her inner walls. The noises they made were enough to drive her mad, from the squelch of his fingers, the slip and slide of his tongue through her drenched folds, to the small noises she couldn’t hold in when the bridge of his sharp node struck her clit. He drank her arousal with such _obscene_ and honest pleasure that her other leg threatened to give out from the stimulation alone.

The promise of release glimmered at the horizon of her mind, gaining ground with every flick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, and every stroke of his fingers. She could reach out to it, take it and hold it against her body until she surrendered herself to the coil of heat slung low in her belly and came hard across Bane’s chin.

Zannah continued to grind against his face, gasping as she tried to angle herself so that his mouth would hit that little nub of bundled nerves the right way. Either he was avoiding it or her aim was off, but that final push eluded her grasp and she kept edging higher and higher, driven to ecstasy by the fury of his adulation. Her hand slid through the blood on his jaw as she tried to pull his head up, just a little bit more until she—

_There_.

His teeth caught against her clit, hard and sharp, propelling her to heights of pleasure she hadn’t thought possible and she doubled over, moaning in distress as he end remained _just_ out of reach. Bane ripped his fingers away as her leg finally buckled. She tipped backward, the ground hard enough to jar the air out of her lungs. The back of her head thumped against the dirt and she saw stars before her eyes and in the sky, twinkling against the black velvet of night.

She hadn’t even noticed the sun setting.

Bane moved over her, the lines of his body predatory. He easily maneuvered her into position, pushing against the backs of her thighs until her upper back and shoulders were all that touched the ground, and then carelessly folded her legs over either side of his neck. His teeth found the bite wound on her thigh and worried it open, the tip of his tongue digging into the punctures and drawing fresh blood.

_I want to see you,_ she thought miserably, the darkness robbing her of his expression as he gorged himself on her flesh and blood.

By command, it seemed, the photoreceptors attached to the ship’s work-lights activated, bathing the clearing in a wash of cold light. Bane didn’t stop, didn’t even seem to notice as he kept sucking at the wound, inflicting a new bruise on the already tender area. Zannah moaned, a mixture of white hot pain and pleasure as his teeth kept pressing against the breaks in her skin.

She never wanted him to be soft with her, never wanted him to be anything other than what he was. Words were not important—talking would have ruined this, what they had, and words of comfort were meaningless between them. Had he given her this with sweet kisses and reverent touch, she would have been disgusted, because that was not the man she knew.

Her Master was hard, stern and relentless, pushing her to her limits before she herself even knew what they were. His was a fortitude forged through war and strife; she could read the miseries of his life written in the lines of his face and the shell of his skin. His was a patience born among libraries and catacombs, through seeking the answers to mysteries set forth by the Ancients.

He wasn’t gentle—he was _thorough_. Everything he did was _deep_ and penetrating and bone-achingly similar to the way he touched her now, with the quickening desire to lay claim tempered only by the exhaustive extent to which he brought her tortured body closer and closer to rapture.

Wanting the smooth slide of his skin beneath her fingers, Zannah reached for him, ready to draw him close and take him inside of her, but Bane intercepted and trapped both wrists in one hand.

It wasn’t like before, when Jex had hold of her. Her Master’s grip was bruising—she felt her tendons creaking and grinding against the fine bones of her wrists and knew she would feel the pain for at least a day after. He twisted her arms above her head and pinned them to the dirt, leaning against them so hard she actually feared, for a moment, the force would snap her bones. She _welcomed_ it, this time, clenching her knees against the sides of his head and trying to bring him down.

Only the pain _he_ caused her meant anything.

Bane pressed his face into her thigh, inhaling deeply; the blood on his cheek was a mixture of hers and his own. It smeared his mouth, slick crimson that matched his eyes. She desperately wanted to kiss him, to taste the combination of their essence on his lips, to suck copper from his tongue and spit it back into his mouth.

As though he had read her mind, Bane dropped her ass into his lap and leaned over her, his enormous frame blotting out the stars in the sky as he pinched open her mouth with his free hand.

Zannah squirmed and writhed, needy noises caught in the back of her throat. The moment he was close enough, she gathered saliva in her cheek and spat in his face. The spittle caught him right below his eye and she flushed with pleasure at the look of surprise on his face.

Growling so low it reverberated throughout her body, he dropped down to kiss her, the cut of his teeth ripping against her lip. She sighed, happily, and opened her mouth to him, inviting his tongue to sweep against the insides of her cheeks.

His stomach brushed hers with every exhale, and his hips pressed into her groin when she writhed up against him. If he was holding himself back, it was only to their detriment. He had nothing to hide from her like this; the bulge of his erection lay against the underside of her thigh and she knew the eventual culmination of this tryst would lead to his cock inside of her, so what was the point of holding himself back?

She rutted against him as though she intended to find her release against the hard ridge of muscle in his thigh, humping him with stuttering movements that were equal parts too much and not enough.

“ _Baaaane_ ,” she hissed through clenched teeth when he pulled away from her, smacking his hand against her ass and halting the rhythm of her hips.

She didn’t think it possible to feel so _much_. Slowly, she became aware of every nerve in her body alighting on fire, following the path of his hands and his mouth. _This_ was burning, she thought to herself. He was burning her _alive_ and she could only look forward to becoming ash.

Jex hadn’t drawn this measure of response from her; not even Kelad’den had managed to inspire her lust like this. Zannah pitted each of her prior paramours against this, what her Master gave her, and found each one sorely lacking.

Of _course_ , though, she had expected nothing _less_.

Her legs lifted, knees pressing hard against his sides as she hooked her calf over his hip, trying to pull him down against her. She wanted the hard thrust of his body, wanted to feel the jut of his cock against her slick core, wanted it pulsing and throbbing into her flesh as Bane found his own release. She wanted him to cum inside of her, fill her with himself in every possible way.

Cradled in the crease where his thigh met with his hip, the thick curve of his member twitched impatiently.Angling her head, she could see it, and she groaned when he shifted, evading her every attempt to make contact.

His vice-grip around her wrists tightened as he forced a hand between them to keep her still. For a moment, Zannah thought she heard her Master stifle a groan; the evidence that he, too, took pleasure from this brought her a perverse joy, that she could be useful to him in this way as well.

_Use me,_ she wanted to say. _Use me, dry me up, and put me away until next time. Just don’t forget that it’s_ _ **me**_ _that’s doing this to you._

He was, of course, just a man, and all men were _weak_ when it came to their base desires. Bane had always stood above that, a pinnacle of perfection in complete mastery of himself and his urges. She had always admired that about him, even if she hadn’t always understood.

The orbalisks hadn’t allowed him the luxury of socialization, though, and she couldn’t imagine what ten long years felt like, trapped in an impenetrable armor that could never come off and denied the touch of another.

Realization struck her, and she lifted her head from the ground to seek out his eyes while he bit and worried at her breast.

“How long?” she asked, breathless and demanding.

Bane ignored her, but the hand splayed across her belly began to descend. She recognized a distraction when she saw it, and when his thumb found her clit and began rubbing in quick, tight circles, she knew it was a question he wasn’t about to answer. It hardly mattered, when he had her so undone beneath him that any appreciation would be lost beneath the haze of ardor he inflicted upon her.

Zannah swiveled her hips, thrusting up against his hand and forcing his thumb to sometimes slip down her cunt. It was just that singular touch, just his thumb moving in circles, that began to drive her back toward the precipice.

Her little nub felt _raw_ with all the attention, pleasure bordering on pain as Bane ruthlessly drove her orgasm, watching her as intently as though he were studying every flinch, every spasm, every gasp and curse and committing it to memory. Had she half a mind to work with, she would have suspected him of doing exactly that, and all for his own benefit.

Closer and closer until she felt herself on the verge of peaking, her entire body drawn tight as all of her energy focused on the pleasure point at the apex of her thighs, where her whole world teetered on the verge of collapse if only Bane would keep doing _exactly_ what he—

“ _No!_ ” Zannah cried out when he removed his hand for the second time. She looked up into his face as he sat back and wanted to spit at him again. He grinned down at her, cruel and imperious, a tyrant withholding from her the one thing she wanted—no, _needed_ right now more than anything.

“ _Bastard_ ,” she snarled, jerking her hips and pulling at her wrists. “Just _fuck_ me already! What are you waiting for?”

“I’m not going to _give_ you anything,” he said. His voice was oily and slick, like she had never heard before. The sound of it went straight to her sex. Frustrated, she attempted to rub her thighs together, trying to gain some manner of friction.

Bane laughed at her desperation and fury rushed through her. When had he managed to turn the tables on her? This was supposed to be about _her_ taking what she wanted, about laying claim and allowing her passion to burn bright. She wasn’t giving in to her emotions, but seeking control _through_ them.

If this was all a sick game he was playing….

Zannah chewed on her lip. Bane seemed to be waiting for her to make a move. He sat there on his knees, inanimate, staring at her with an intensity that didn’t diminish even though the frenzy of their lust had temporarily abated.

She could still feel it in him, barely restrained, a dark swirl of energy kept at bay by strength of will alone. She knew if it were unleashed she’d be caught up in the tempest of his passion. It frightened her to think what he was capable of, to _know_ the power that coursed through him and that the only reason the entire universe wasn’t cowering at his feet was because of his incredible restraint.

Oh, but how she wanted him to focus all that untapped energy on _her_.

Zannah twisted and pulled at her arms until one slim wrist popped free of his hold; the pain was sharp, and she knew she had most likely twisted something, but before Bane could counter she had driven her hand between them, fingers skirting the edge of his pants until she traced the firm line of his erection over his thigh. She curled her palm over the head—the fabric of his pants already damp from pre-cum—and reveled in the way he had to force himself to keep from thrusting against her hand.

She looked forward to the silken glide of skin against her palm, anticipated wrapping her fingers around him and giving to him what he had given to her, drive him so close to the edge that he’d _curse_ her for it, before ripping it away. See how _he_ enjoyed being kept on edge like that, release _just_ this side of unattainable.

“Master,” she breathed huskily, rolling her wrist and twisting her hand against his cock. “I _need_ this. I need _you_.”

His control was unbelievable. Bane allowed her to grope at him for a few, brief seconds before he knocked her hand away and tore at his belt, stripping it off so she could unbutton his fly. He released her other hand and sat up on his heels, chest heaving as he watched her curl forward to attack the clasp with both hands.

The more the heavy material resisted her, the more frantic she became. She _hungered_ for the shape of him, the weight of his cock in her hand, the heat and salt of him across her tongue and down her throat.

Finally, the fly gave way and she hurried to roll the band down. It caught just over the tops of his thighs, his erection springing free with a sharp slap against his abdomen.

Zannah reached for it with a dry mouth at the same time as her Master, and their knuckles collided. Knocking his hand out of the way with a dismissive gesture, she immediately gripped the meaty base of his shaft, dry mouth flooded with a rush of saliva as she felt her way around him.

She noticed the clench of his stomach when she stroked up and grinned, watching clear fluid bead at the tip of his cock as his foreskin bunched around the head.

Like the rest of him, Bane’s member was long and girthy, dark veins proudly standing out against pale skin and the flushed pink of its head moist with pre-cum. Her thumb and forefinger didn’t meet at the thickest part of him and her thighs flexed taut at the thought of it inside of her.

She wanted to throw him down and ride him until something _broke_ , but first she wanted to ruin his perfect discipline, watch him unravel at the seams as he had done to her.

The sound his cock made as it tapped against the hard plane of his abdomen couldn’t hide the soft grunt Bane made, prompting Zannah to do it again. It left a slick trail on his skin, a glittering string connecting to his cock and snapping when she slowly angled him away. She pulled him down and let go again, watching the way Bane’s eyes followed the movement and the way his lips pressed together until they were nearly white.

The longer it took him to cave, the more fun she would have on the way.

Even with half a meter’s difference in height between them, Zannah had to bend at the waist to lower her mouth to his length. The moment her golden head brushed against his stomach she heard him release a noise that was almost a sigh.

She teased him gently, with plush lips against the head of his cock, kissing sweetly, applying no more pressure than the most delicate of touches. She performed the same down to the base, kissing and nuzzling like she did with her previous lovers. It drove them wild, the feather-light caress of her mouth, her breath hot against their sensitive skin, and she could only hope it would have the same effect on her Master.

He sat there, rigidly still while she pressed her nose to his smooth groin, holding his cock against her cheek and teasing his slit with a single finger. This close, she felt the flutter of an aborted gasp against her forehead, the way his stomach exhaled against her skin torturous. She set her mouth to a spot just above the base of his cock and began to worry the area with her lips and teeth, sucking a bruise into him with sharp nips.

Despite the fact that it seemed like he had barely exerted himself during their brief fight, Zannah tasted the salt of sweat on his skin, the grit of dirt filling the crevices of her teeth as she latched onto him, pulling the grime off with her tongue.

Eager to taste more of him, to taste _him_ apart from sweat and dirt, she licked a short path up his pelvis to a patch just below his navel, kissing and laving him until saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth. On a whim, she sunk her teeth in _deep_ , sucking a pinch of his skin between her lips and slicing it open against her incisors.

Blood filled her mouth and Bane buried his hand in her hair, wrapping the length of it around his fist and pulling back so hard she felt hairs rip out by the root. Tears erupted from her eyes at the sudden, harsh sting, but Zannah held fast to his skin, tearing a jagged edge into the small cut until blood began to trickle freely from the wound.

Releasing her hold on him, she allowed her Master to pull her head back at an uncomfortable, painful angle. Her neck stretched taut and she couldn’t see him through the haze of tears, but she knew he looked down at her and she grinned, her teeth tinged red with his blood.

“I’m not done,” she whispered throatily, reaching again for his cock.

There was a hint of hesitation, the barest of pauses before Bane loosened his hold, but kept her hair firmly wrapped around his hand; the threat of pain was still there, but more than ever it was something she _desired_.

Ducking again, Zannah fit the fat head of his cock past her lips, sucking hard as she pumped the rest of him. With her other hand she wrestled his pants down a little farther, freeing his balls. She cupped them, rolling them into her palm with gentle squeezes that quickly began testing the extent of what Bane was willing to endure.

They were heavy and fat with ejaculate, sitting high against the underside of his erection. Zannah released Bane and tongued her way down his shaft to lave over his sack, and it was _there_ that she found his scent, beyond the sweat, the musk that was uniquely _his_.

She had no name for it, for it was unlike anything she had ever tasted before. Something from his home planet, she thought, some mineral in the water or food that she had never encountered before. It was a dark taste, slightly exotic with some kind of spice that felt like a _drug_ with how it affected her.

Half-drunk on his scent, she buried her nose in the space between his cock and his scrotum and inhaled deeply.

The hand in her hair tightened again, a warning, and Zannah looked up through her lashes with glittering eyes and a crimson smile.

“Nervous?” she dared ask, lust shooting up her spine every time he pulled at her hair.

“Get on with it,” came the biting reply, the first crack in the veneer of his discipline.

She laughed in acquiesce and sucked again at his cock, chasing the bob and sliding it deep into her mouth. He struck the back of her throat with a handful of centimeters to spare, which she eagerly took hold of. The slow glide of her lips over his foreskin, the slide of it up and down his shaft was a sensation she would not soon forget.

Hours could be wasted like this, she thought, taking the time to break him slowly and patiently until he begged for release.

Bane didn’t beg, however. _Only once_ , her treacherous memory supplied, but she knew he would never beg for _this_. Truthfully, she didn’t want him to. There needn’t be words between them. It would be enough to watch him close his eyes against the pleasure and struggle against a moan. It’d be more satisfying to feel his hand in her hair and his stomach clenching beneath her forehead.

Zannah hollowed her cheeks sucking him down as far as he would go, hand working around the centimeters that wouldn’t fit. Blood covered his groin, dripping steadily down his thighs and mingling with his scent. She felt _dizzy_.

After several minutes of dipping her head back and forth over his length, Zannah thought she felt his hand press against the back of her head, a steady pressure that slowly increased with every second that passed by.

When she was no longer imagining it, she darted her eyes up toward Bane’s and watched as he slowly pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Then, his eyes hardened and he dropped his other hand to cradle her jaw in another painful grip.

Realizing what was about to happen, Zannah immediately lowered her hands to brace against his thighs, digging her thumbs into the thick, hard muscle. She relaxed her jaw and closed her eyes, concentrating on suppressing her gag reflex.

It was all the preparation she had time to make before Bane pulled her close, closer than she had been capable of on her own.

His cock stabbed at the back of her throat before pressing _past_ , sliding against the wet lining until her nose was crushed against his groin. All she could smell was blood, blood and the mysterious scent of him that she knew she could have fallen in love with in another life.

With short, sharp jabs he thrust into her mouth, suffocating her with his girth, his scent, his _power._ It was all she could do to remain upright, her fingers turning to claws against his thighs, drawing red furrows in his skin as the frenzy of his movements increased.

Zannah choked and coughed around him, sputtering excess spit down her chin. Everything was wet and tasted of copper, his blood transferring to her skin with every crush of his hips. Greedily, she tried to suck it down her throat, but retched as Bane jacked into her. The tears that had built up finally freed themselves, spilling down her cheeks and carving a clear path through the blood and dirt.

Her Master’s hands twisted in her hair as his pace increased. Zannah started to push against him, fighting the urge to thrash as her lungs began to ache from lack of fresh air. She didn’t feel as though she could breathe through her nose—Bane was too much, _so much_ for her to handle, and though it was to her desire, she didn’t want him to end in her mouth—not this time.

Summoning the concentration necessary to use the Force at a time like this nearly required a miracle, but somehow she managed to gather enough beneath her palms to force Bane away.

She gasped as he fell back, catching himself on his hands. Her jaw felt as though it had been torn from its socket, held in one position for too long and abused in a way she hadn’t ever experienced before. It was a good ache, though, the kind of thing she could appreciate.

Zannah dragged the back of her hand across her mouth and Bane surged toward her, seizing her neck just beneath the curve of her jaw and drawing her up against him for a savage kiss. She molded her body against his, breasts painfully crushed against her chest and his cock trapped between their stomachs. She felt the slip of his blood and fit her hand between them to grasp at his member, tugging the foreskin up over the head and pinching the tip.

Bane inhaled sharply before sucking from her mouth all the moisture she had collected. His tongue pressed against hers and swept against her teeth and the roof of her mouth. Moaning desperately, Zannah curled her other hand around the back of his neck and scratched at his skin.

After several beats, her Master pulled back and then spat sharply into the hollow of her mouth. She started, and then the realization of what he had done struck her. With a wretched noise she pulled him back down to kiss him again, quickening the movement of her hand.

When he pushed her back, Zannah pulled him down with her, the strike of stone and dirt against her shoulders nowhere near as distracting as the way his cock slid against the inside of her thighs. They were so slick, so _wet_ with blood and arousal that it was almost pitiful.

The way he thrust against her, the glide of skin against skin wrangled a sob from her throat as she shoved at his chest, forcing him to arch away so she could open her legs wider in accommodation, her heels catching around the backs of his thighs and urging him closer.

Bane’s breath was so hot against the curve of her neck; she didn’t notice the way he bit her but clung to the sound of his ragged panting, the breath driven from him the same way it had been driven from her. He was close, she surmised, skirting the breaking point of both his patience and composure. It wouldn’t take much more to drive him over the edge, and it’d take nothing at all for her to fall with him. Any more delay and she would _scream_.

The sensation of the slick of his skin beneath her hands and the deep, rolling thrusts of his hips as he chased after the friction of their bodies melded together was something to hold onto, a detail to immortalize within her memory until eternity took her. She clung to that sound of his sharp grunts, the image of his eyes shut tight and his head tilted back when he had fucked her mouth, and the obvious _pleasure_ he found in her body.

She _basked_ in his wild abandon, in the hedonism of the moment, and couldn’t recall anything that had ever brought her to the very pinnacle of ecstasy like this. If she never crested, if she _never_ met with her end beneath his hands, but forever teetered on the edge, she would be okay with that. If it was what _he_ wanted, if it was within his command, she would have accepted it as her fate.

The hot tip of his cock dragged across her skin, pulling her from the depths of her fantasies and back to the present. His movements, while not desperate, were hardly restrained. His mouth against hers did not taste at her with the methodical patience from before; it was not the unraveling she had imagined, but it was _good enough_.

Blood still flowed from the cut she had torn into his stomach, and Zannah wasted no time in running her hands through the trickle, gathering as much as she could. Bane arched and ducked his head to look between them, and when she used his own blood to slick his cock, he let out a low, _guttural_ moan that shook her to the center of her being.

She was _soaked_ —if it still wasn’t lubricant enough then she’d take it anyway, the size of him more than enough to satisfy the need she felt. She already anticipated the burning stretch of him, the heft of his balls against her ass, the strike of his cockhead against her cervix as he bottomed out.

The pain was what Zannah craved, the _ache_ of him more than anything. If she couldn’t feel him for days after, knowing this may be the only chance she’d ever have, then what was the point to all of it?

Hiking her legs up around his hips, Zannah pulled at his cock until he dipped low to meet her; he was holding himself back again, apparent in the small, nearly imperceptible tremors in his arms that would have slipped past the notice of anyone other than her.

Was it for her own sake that he fought the natural course of his desires? Would his passions lead to her untimely death? She could think of no other reason for him to suppress his urges like this, and sought to undo the rigid band of control he held over himself with her grip tightening around his member.

Kissing his neck when he bared it to her, she guided the tip of his cock to her entrance and teased it back and forth, sliding it through the wet heat of her arousal and just barely allowing him to breach her entrance. Zannah _moaned_ at the feel of him and canted her hips, inviting him just a little deeper inside of her.

Her Master sat up, suddenly, ripping his warmth away from her with such speed she instinctively locked her legs around the small of his back to keep him from going anywhere; she was _not_ about to let him retreat this time, no matter _what_ his plans.

But he didn’t make any further attempt to pull away from her. A moment later and she realized why, when his hands found the sweat-damp spots behind her knees and lifted her ass off of his lap.

She didn’t know how he managed to find her again so quickly, but that first thrust—the one that she felt in the back of her throat—ripped a scream from her so hoarse she sounded to her own ears as though she were being _murdered_.

His girth was more than she had anticipated, even when she had held it in her hand. She felt him stretching, _burning_ , tearing his way inside of her until he stopped with nowhere left to go. He wasn’t all the way in, but she had clenched so hard around his length that to move was agony, for the both of them.

Zannah cried and wriggled her hips, trying to find the give that would allow him to fill her completely. She wanted him flush, connected at every point until there wasn’t a single space between them, even though, objectively, she knew her body could barely handle anything more.

The dark side flowed through him, power in his fingertips, lingering in the bruises he’d inflicted on her, scorching the surface of her skin where his lips and teeth had left their marks, and she needed it to _consume_ her from within, until he had claimed every part of her that she had to give.

“Please, _move_ ,” she demanded, reaching for his legs and forcing her fingers behind the bend of his knees; they were crushed between the line where his thigh folded against his calf, but she used the leverage to pull herself up, her stomach muscles tensing as she balanced against his thighs. His cock pulsed inside of her, twitching in time with his heartbeat.

It was too much and not enough. Zannah flopped back and covered her face with her hands, fighting off fresh tears.

“ _Master,_ _ **please**_ _, please…._ ”

He gave in to her begging with a single harsh thrust that broke past whatever hold she had on them, withdrawing so that the tip of him brushed her outer lips before reentering. A wail broke free when she felt the weight of his hips slam into hers, that single movement enough to shove her a full centimeter back.

Another thrust, this one firmer and smoother as her body began to open to him, muscles recognizing the impending heat of her release and the familiar sensation of sex, which it had missed for more than four months before now. It relearned its duties quickly and the tension in her back poured out of her, her legs falling slack at Bane’s sides.

Pushing the advantage, he drew her thighs up against his chest and rested her calves over his shoulders. The position had her curled over, but when he moved against her he touched a part deep inside of her she hadn’t even realized existed, and when she moaned her pleasure, his laughter was in her ears, dark and malevolent.

Bane’s pace increased, the stuttering rhythm of his hips replaced with an accuracy for which Zannah thanked the stars. He struck at those pieces of her tucked away and hidden, the tender areas that made her cry and gasp out, that made her swear and cling to him, that made her beg and demand and moan until words were impossible to conceive.

He fucked her with a cruelty she had never known before, channeling everything he had held back before now into his rabid thrusts— _this_ was why he held back, not out of some misplaced concern for her safety or well-being, but because he had, somehow, known _exactly_ what she had wanted.

Every stroke into her felt like a punch to her gut, every vicious thrust like a stab between her legs, and she _sobbed_ with the pleasure of it, her fingers clawing at his hands and his wrists when he planted them on the ground on either side of her, folding her in half at the waist. He was _killing_ her, he was killing her and she was going to _die_ from the pain of it, the ache that took hold of her heart and _squeezed_ until she thought it would burst.

The first orgasm ripped through her with all the force of an exploding star, shattering her from the inside and sending her into shaking convulsions that stripped from her any conscious ability to _think_. Breathing, so often taken for granted, felt like one chore too many as she tried to make sense of what was happening to her. Electricity shot through her nerves and tendons, curling deep in the marrow of her bones; she twisted against her Master’s hold, thrashing her head back and forth as she let loose with a wail that set fire to her lungs and ravaged the back of her throat.

Bane was not unaffected. With every ripple of her walls clenching down around him, he held back a groan, evident in the hard clench of his mouth and the grind of his teeth. His eyes were dilated, focusing on her but not _seeing_ her. When she came, he bit back a harsh noise and buried his face against the side of her neck, riding out the waves of her orgasm with short, shallow thrusts to drive it along to its smoldering end.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zannah gasped emphatically as she began to come back down to herself, crawling her way from whatever heights she had achieved to reclaim the solidity of her shell-shocked body. There was no word for what he had done to her, just now. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to describe it, though her grasp on any language, right now, was tenuous at best.

Flames licked her spine, the last vestigial tingles of a pleasure she wouldn’t soon forget lingering against her, like Bane had peeled back the edges of her soul and fucked it raw with the understanding that only he had ever touched her so deeply, that only _he_ knew her like this...and it was a secret kept between them, something she would carry to her grave, knowing the satisfaction that only her Master’s hands had wrung from her bones.

His flesh struck a sore spot inside of her, so tender she wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out he had broken something. Zannah hummed in the back of her throat and kicked one of her legs off of his shoulder and down to his side. Bane looked at her with an arched brow as she leaned up to capture his hand, marveling at the muscles flexing along his forearm, up into his bicep and broad shoulder.

With his crimson eyes on her, she drew one of his fingers into her mouth, sucking up to the knuckle and raking her teeth back down. When she was certain she had his full attention—even if she _did_ have to forgive him for the way his thrusts slowed—Zannah leaned back and guided his hand to the column of her throat, setting it just against the slight ridge of her windpipe.

His eyes darkened when she pressed down on the back of his hand with both of hers, and within seconds she didn’t have to guide him anymore. His fingers clenched of their own accord and he shifted her lower body, twisting her into an uncomfortable position where he straddled one of her thighs and held the other straight over his shoulder. Not once did he slip free of her body, the texture of his member dragging against her walls sparking fresh lust to form, wrapping around her guts like a vice.

Her Master was so large, even on his knees, that he didn’t have to strain himself to reach her neck. The hard heat beneath his palm sank into her skin, flushing her with apprehension and need.

Zannah clutched at his wrist as he squeezed tight and began thrusting at the same breakneck pace as before, the slap of their hips the only sound amid his panting and her labored breathing.

The pressure around her throat increased in subtle increments, limiting the amount of air she could draw in with every inhalation. Her nostrils flared as she tried to coach herself to breathing through her nose, but then Bane’s hand clamped down so tight she _gasped_ , remembering what it had felt like when he had used the Force to lift her off her feet into the air, the way he had held her aloft with a single gesture, her life completely in his hands.

She had known then that he wouldn’t kill her, just as she knew the same now. His cock stabbed into her, punishing her, _fucking_ her open, their groins stained pink with the wash of blood and arousal.

She could only feel him through the sensation of his member spreading her cunt, the way he felt when he reached the end of her, and she sobbed against the hand on her throat, tightening, _constricting_ , and for a moment she scrabbled at his arm with sharp nails, scratching the surface of his skin like she forgot what they were doing, that she had _asked_ for this.

Bane was relentless, though, somehow able to know what she wanted before she even knew herself—he knew _better_ than her, at any rate. He held fast to her throat for a few seconds longer than necessary, until her eyes began to flutter as unconsciousness threatened to take hold.

Then, his hand was gone, his broad palm slapping her face so sharply the shock outweighed the sting and Zannah jerked, drawing in deep gulps of oxygen the moment she found herself free. He allowed her the luxury of breathing for only a moment before his hand was on her neck again.

Ecstasy so deep and black she couldn’t comprehend its enormity began to rise within her, fueled by his jabbing thrusts and the way he choked her to the edge of a faint. The knowledge that this encounter, for everything it was worth, for all the future fantasies it was sure to inspire, was the culmination of all her pain and suffering, all the doubt she had allowed herself to fall victim to, a shining victory among her sea of failures, sent her spiraling off the cliff he had driven her against, into an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.

It fed itself inside of her, a black hole drawing on every sensation in her body, from the sting of her injuries to the flake of dried blood, from the painful ache in her cunt to the harsh drive of Bane’s hips, the steady beat of his cock against her cervix, the stranglehold against her neck and the tears on her lashes.

Blackness threatened to take her one last time before she arched against the ground, back bowing as her second orgasm blew through her with the force of a hundred supernovas, wrapping her up in bone-drenched pleasure and buffeting her conscious mind between incredulity and gratitude, until her screams ran hoarse and she knew only his name.

Every nerve _thrummed_ with the force of it, every centimeter alight with something greater than her understanding. As the pleasure slowly abated, she shook, arms trembling as her Master leaned over her, offering her his body as an anchor—the kindest thing he had ever done for her.

With a strangled sob she wrapped her arms under his and around his back and buried her face in his neck, chanting his name into his skin, burying a piece of herself therefor him to remember.

He was inside of her still, his thrusts shallow and seeking, and Zannah slowly pulled her nails up his ribs, deep as she could with her waning strength. He hissed above her, throwing his weight into her like a thanks, and she responded in kind, pressing her teeth to his pulse and leaving behind another bruise.

The pace of his thrusts increased—he had to be close to finishing, she thought, feeling lightheaded as her pleasure began to cool into the sort of tingling over-stimulation that left her skin prickling with discomfort.

And as Bane hammered away at her, his seemingly limitless stamina finally began to find its end.

Zannah tore open his back, slicking fresh blood up his spine and down his sides, trying to memorize the shape of his ribs against her palms and the pounding of his heart she felt through his skin and against her chest. With one bloodied hand she grasped at her own breast, squeezing and pinching her nipple until she moaned, even through the burn between her thighs.

It had become unbearable, the chafing of sticky skin more than she could withstand. She would have cried out, but there were no more tears, no more breath left to tell him to stop.

She reached down her stomach, seeking out her clit. It hurt, tender and exposed from its hood, but she rubbed fervent circles into it with three of her fingers, in tandem with his thrusts, urging herself to a _third_ orgasm, smaller and coasting that bled through her raw nerves like acid, and with that final push her muscles spasmed, catching him in a tight grip that had him groaning and pulsing inside of her.

As Bane came, he dropped down on his elbows around her, his cock twitching four, five, _six_ times as he filled her with his release. Zannah squirmed, filled with his cock, his seed, and the satisfaction that she had wrought this upon him, that she alone had driven him to _this_.

They heaved against one another as they sucked in air, their bodies working in overdrive to cool off. Sweat beaded Bane’s skin, blood _everywhere_ between them, and Zannah choked back a raspy laugh. Despite their exhaustion, he was still hard within her. A minute passed, then two, and he gave no sign of softening. Moving tenderly, she managed to lift herself free of his cock; Bane jerked, his entire body like a steel band, but made no move to stop her hand from wrapping around him one final time.

He was a sloppy mess, his cock covered in a mixture of their cum and blood, the tip darkened more red than pink and shiny with arousal. She felt his pulse in the prominent vein on the side and pressed her thumb against it, as hard as she dared, wringing a sharp, pained noise from her Master. His foreskin rolled back through her fist and had she been a fraction further from total collapse she would have paid special attention to the way he canted his hips into her hand with every downward stroke.

His own hand stealthily made its way between her legs, but Zannah clenched her thighs shut and made a warning noise, halfway between a growl and a whine. He rested there, squeezing over the bite mark Jex had left her with. She wondered if he could feel _her_ pulse through the wound.

Her arm, plagued with the heaviness of fatigue, cramped as she continued to stroke him. The pain in her wrist returned, a clicking sensation spiraling up into her shoulder that she couldn’t help but attribute to a hairline fracture. Doubling down, Zannah squeezed his length harder and manipulated her fingers against his frenulum, drinking in the tortured noises he made.

Two minutes in and he came dry, groaning as his erection finally flagged against his thigh. She dropped her hand with no small amount of relief and collapsed back against the ground, her arms splayed out wide. Bane sat back with his hand on his member, gripping it like it needed to be shielded from further stimulation.

Zannah wanted to say something, but couldn’t coax her tongue to movement. She didn’t even know what she _would_ say. Thanks was obvious, but she felt that would cheapen the experience. Her gratitude was written in the gouges on his back, traced in the blood on his skin.

He didn’t need the words.

Likewise, she felt the phantom grip of his hands on her body even as the last trickle of endorphins faded away. _This_ was the ache she preferred, the quiet agony that followed a thorough fuck, something for her to remember in the mornings.

It was enough to banish the memory of everyone prior. She sank into herself, allowing her consciousness to wander, and found that everything that had tormented her before, every shred of anxiety had bled from her body.

There was no doubt, no fear, not even _anger_.

The emptiness she felt was surprising, but nothing she concerned herself with. Her energy had completely tapped out. Strength would come only through sheer force of will, and she didn’t even have that. Dragging herself back to the _Loranda_ was going to kill her.

The sound of rocks crunching beneath boots drew her back to herself, and she opened her eyes, rolling her head to the side just enough to catch the sight of her Master on his feet, tucking himself back into his pants. His hands didn’t shake as he adjusted the fly and tightened his belt, and he didn’t stumble in those first few steps he took away from her.

She envied his strength, that he could pull himself together so easily after what had singularly achieved some of the most intense orgasms of her entire, short life.

“Make sure you sleep,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at her. “Tomorrow we resume your training. I’ve several tasks for you, as well.”

Zannah snorted. When had he had time to come up with _that?_

But his voice was the siren’s call, bidding her to obey. She grimaced and rolled onto her side, every part of her tender and raw as skin touched skin. First to her hands and knees and then to her feet, muscles shivering and threatening to drag her back down. She wobbled like a toddler, swaying dangerously for a moment before balancing herself. Something wet and lukewarm slid down her thigh—their cum, her mind supplied for her while she blinked.

The earth tilted and she didn’t know how she managed to carry herself to the boarding ramp, but the cool metal beneath her feet was a soothing substitute for the rocks and dirt.

Zannah paused at the ramp, her hands clinging to the lift mechanism as she looked back for her Master. He stood several feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with muted desire. Zannah’s whole body leaned toward him as if drawn by a magnet; it’d be easy to go to him, to put her arms around his waist and her mouth against his chest and coax him into another round, even though she was aware her battered body couldn’t handle it.

He frowned as if thinking the same thing and shook his head at her.

“ _Sleep_ ,” he commanded. “You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

With that final edict, Zannah inclined her head at him and ascended the ramp, limping through the corridor to her bunk where she immediately collapsed. By the time Bane joined her in their small cabin, not three minutes later, she was already fast asleep.

 


	10. Direxi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the end. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but until I figure out what, exactly, needs changing, this is it. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading, and thank you to those who left kudos! I don't know if I'll write Star Wars again, but it's been a blast delving into the fandom like this, even if it's kind of a little niche corner XD. Have fun guys, and thanks again!

Zannah awoke when her Master did, rising a full hour before the sun was set to breach the horizon. He had deprived himself of his clothing sometime before coming to bed, and it was immediately apparent neither of them had bothered with washing up.

Blood had dried in flaky brown patches, cum and spit crusted white against their thighs. Bruises mottled their skin in bold patterns that Zannah could very nearly follow the course of and read exactly how last night had transpired. She couldn’t help but admire the terrible little wound she had made against his navel, scabbed over with dried blood and surrounded by an angry, reddish-black bruise.

She wanted to touch it, to press her fingers into him just for the thrill of it, but then Bane slipped into the fresher and she was left to wait, taking catalog of her own collection of injuries.

Her wrist was swollen—that was the worst of it, and she knew there was a sprain or a fracture that’d need to be seen to immediately. The inside of her thigh throbbed with the severity of the bite wound; Jex’s sharp teeth had cut her deep, but Bane’s torture had invited what seemed to be the beginnings of an infection. Grits of sand and dirt crusted the torn edges of the mark and when she tried to touch it, the pain was sharp enough to make her flinch.

Across her body flared similar aches. Her nipples were sore, the skin raw and tender, bruises and suck marks peppered across her breasts. A glance into the small mirror at her bedside revealed a thick band of dark bruising around her neck and another against her cheek where Bane had slapped her. Blood spread down her face from a small cut that bisected her eyebrow, and she didn’t know how she had gotten _that_.

Her knees and elbows were a mess, but already scabbing over. She didn’t dare try to twist herself around to take stock of her back, but looking at the state of her bed sheets she knew it couldn’t be pretty. Bane’s mat was in a similar state, blood stains peppering those areas where he had slept the heaviest.

When he evacuated the fresher, half an hour later, the full extent of the damage she had inflicted upon him became apparent against the raw scrub of clean skin, the furrows she had drawn down his back angry and red, crisscrossing over his spin and down his sides; stippled marks against his neck that she could still taste in the back of her mouth. He gave her a wry look before throwing a towel at her face.

Zannah barely caught it in time and, in a daze, drifted into the humid fresher to scrub last night from her body. The water ran muddy at her feet, swirling down the drain and carrying off the sticky remnants of their pleasure. She was almost sorry, but the hot water eased the soreness in her body, and as she washed her hair she allowed herself the luxury of indulging in the memory of Bane’s body buffeting hers.

Her clit was too tender to touch, and her fingers chafed against her labia when she tried inserting a few fingers past her lips. Instead of frustration, Zannah felt only a savage satisfaction that filled her with the security that she had accomplished _exactly_ what she had set out to do.

_I am set free,_ she thought to herself, smug warmth flooding her body.

She dressed quickly but took her time wrapping her wrist, planning to head to a med-clinic in the city once her Master dismissed her from training. She elected to leave her wounds bare, except for the one on her thigh; that one she smothered in a bacta patch in the hopes of chasing away the infection. Several extra patches made their way to Bane’s pile of books, neatly spread on top of the largest tome, where he wouldn’t miss them the next time he entered the cabin.

Limping outside, Zannah foundBane waiting for her, standing at the edge of the clearing with her lightsaber in hand. She jogged to meet him, schooling her expression into one of neutrality as he held the damaged hilt of her weapon out to her to take.

He moved gingerly as he led her to a shaded area beneath the trees, and as she set her eyes on his back, she noticed that he held himself differently. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it; the set of his spine and the breadth of his shoulders remained uncompromised, but the way he moved seemed... _easier_ , almost. Like he had come unburdened.

“Sit,” Bane said, lowering himself to the ground and crossing his legs. Zannah complied, the ache of her muscles delicious as she copied his pose. They faced one another, Master and Apprentice once more.

“I’ve purchased land,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “In a few days the construction of our base will begin. It will be unlike anything you are used to, but that is to the effect of our new identities.”

“For what purpose?” she asked, anticipation rising in her chest. She leaned forward, her hands clutching her knees.

“We will need to maintain a veil of secrecy,” Bane continued, “now, more than ever. The Jedi believe the last of the Sith Lords deceased, the entire Order wiped from existence. This is what they must continue to believe until such a time comes to pass that the destruction of their entire race is imminent. We must walk in shadow, my Apprentice, beneath the guise of ordinary civilians. It is through this that we will set into motion our plans, and usher in a new era of the Sith.”

“What must we do, Master?”

“We will focus on increasing our wealth and building our network of spies; information is the most powerful currency in the galaxy, but even so it must be bought. Eventually, we will cast our hand into the political realm, where the first seeds of our plan must be sowed.”

“Just the seeds? We won’t live to see our efforts come to fruition,” Zannah said, drawing in a deep breath. “How can we ensure the legacy survives?”

Bane grinned, the dark side a menacing, gravitational force around him that pulled her in closer, until she leaned across her thighs.

“Remember, only those who are _worthy_ of the mantle of Sith will be allowed to carry on in our stead. It will be up to you to choose a worthy apprentice when the time comes. If you are capable of eliminating me, then everything we build, everything we control, will fall unto _you_ to see through to your end.”

“Then I’ll train,” she said, sticking her chin out. “I’ll become strong, stronger even than _you_. Then, when you’re nothing more than an obstacle in my path, I’ll destroy you and carry on in your stead, as my apprentice will do after me.”

Bane nodded.

“The people of this planet are business-minded; they respect wealth and power. Our identities must embody those elements. When you return, we will further discuss our cover story.”

“Return from where?” Zannah replied, sucking back her sudden alarm.

_Not this again_.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you off easy, did you?” Bane asked, a touch of humor in his tone. “You’ve spent the last three weeks agonizing over the past. Either my lessons haven’t sunk in or you were being willfully obtuse.”

Everything _stopped_.

Zannah gaped for a moment before shutting her mouth a sharp _click_ of her teeth. She hadn’t even paused to consider that, through all her suffering, her Master might have taken notice. He had never said anything, had never made any mention of what he must have sensed...except he _had_ , during their sparring session...right before she had lost….

“Was that _you?_ ” Zannah asked. “Did you…did _you_ do that to me?”

“Sever your connection to the Force? No.”

So he _had_ known.

Despite herself, anger flooded her body. She felt it, white-hot against the back of her eyes, black fury in her chest as she struggled to control the sudden desire to reach out and wrench Bane’s spine out of place. He watched her, _knowing_ that she struggled to keep her emotion in check, and smirked.

“Suppressing your emotions is what crippled you in the first place,” he said, his voice like silk. She _hated_ him in that moment, the damnable crawl of his deep baritone penetrating her bones and the angle of his mouth mocking her as she tried to keep from lashing out at him.

“If you knew, then why didn’t you _say something?_ ” she asked. “I was _scared!_ I didn’t know what was happening to me!”

“And if you had fallen back on your training, accepted your emotions and channeled your power _through_ them, you would have regained your control. You _fought_ it, though. Why?”

“I-I don’t know,” Zannah admitted, casting her eyes down. Her anger thrashed against her discipline, fighting to be set free, but she felt confused. “I don’t know why I was so afraid.”

“But you overcame yourself, in the end. I sensed the change when you returned to camp. Your connection to the Force was so weak, but you exhibited confidence and passion. You didn’t run away this time...even when you knew how easy it would have been for me to kill you.”

“I thought about it,” she said, the confession a brand against her face as she flushed. “A part of me _wanted_ to. I didn’t want to die….” She trailed off, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she avoided finishing her sentence.

“But?” Bane prompted.

Zannah took a deep breath. Her thoughts were no longer jumbled, but all the same she struggled to put to words what she had felt all along, to name that persistent uncertainty. How could she tell him that she _would_ have died, if that had been the only way to rid herself of suffering? What would he even _thi—_

_You don’t_ _ **care**_ _what he thinks_ , she told herself, sternly.

“But I didn’t want to live like that,” she whispered, the words falling out of her mouth in a rush, past her lips before she could even run them past her mental filter. They lay there in the air between them, thick with regret and shame. She had thought herself _rid_ of the filth that had clouded her mind, and she shifted, her expression one of revulsion.

“Weak and blind, unable to call upon the Force...I didn’t want to be useless, because I knew...I knew you’d kill me for it. And that...the thought that I was no longer—” Zannah closed her eyes, “—no longer _worthy_ of you was worse than the fear. I knew I couldn’t disappoint you again.”

“It was a bold move,” her Master replied, resting his elbows against his knees clasping his hands in front of him. “Running away like that. I almost chased after you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because there are trials you will have to face alone. I cannot be there for you _always_. That has never been a part of the way we move, you and I.”

“I disobeyed you.”

“Rebellion is within our nature. Would it have helped the situation if I had gone after you and dragged you back?”

“No….”

“I was not _moved_ to pursue you,” he explained. “The Force was seized around you, held captive by your inability to _accept_ yourself. I _could_ have helped you, but you wouldn’t have come to find the understanding you did on your own, out of sight and away from my guidance. It was within your best interest that I surrendered you to your torments.”

“How do you know all this?” she asked, troubling her lip again.

“You can’t conceal yourself from me,” Bane said, tilting his head. “Acceptance of the dark side, of the change it invites in you, is _paramount_ to your training. It is one of the first lessons I taught you, and you understood it as a child. Forgetting your way—the way of the _Sith—_ will cause you to stumble. I cannot keep you by my side if you are not dedicated. You were right: I _would_ have killed you before I let you jeopardize everything I have worked so hard toward.”

The structure of his voice changed until a threat ran beneath his words. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end, and Zannah nodded mutely.

“What would you have me do, Master?” she asked, tucking her fury next to heart, where she wouldn’t soon forget it. “I’ll train twice as hard; I’ll obey your every word, and—“

“You’ll do all that _regardless_ ,” Bane interrupted. “For this, specifically, I’m sending you on a mission, You may take your time, as efficiency outweighs all else. Your lightsaber is damaged beyond repair; one of the kyber crystals was affected by a short circuit and fractured. Head to Mytus and retrieve another. While you are there, find a man named Sygor Rin. He will have something for me that you are to procure.”

“How do I get there?” Zannah asked, feeling swept along by the will of her Master, unable to seize control of the situation. He had a way of doing that, she realized.

“Utilize the Hydian Way. From there you’ll need to plot your own course. Take care not to die, and I should see you again within three weeks.”

He was smug. Entirely _too_ smug. His face betrayed nothing but she felt it in his Force signature, something he didn’t even bother trying to conceal.

“I wonder if my Master is trying to get rid of me,” she grumbled, unfolding her legs and pushing herself to her feet.

“You wouldn’t need to wonder if I _was_ ,” he said, rising to meet her and clapping a hand to her shoulder. “Do what you need in order to prepare, but leave before midday. I’ll await your return.”

Zannah fidgeted and then reached up to grab at his hand before he could pull away. There was so much on the tip of her tongue when he looked at her— _I hate you, You lied to me, Thank you, Don’t send me away, What are you hiding?—_ but she couldn’t bring herself to speak a single word of it.

Her fingers clenched around his, and then they both dropped their hands, an unspoken something having passed between them that neither of them needed to further quantify. Her expression was a mixture of grateful and mistrusting when she turned to leave, but the conflict remained only in her head, not her heart.

The Force was with her, and she knew now that it always would be. Nothing could ever take that away from her again. Zannah squinted up at the sky and thought about her Master’s hand around her throat.

_Ciutric IV...there are_ _**worse** _ _planets._

**Author's Note:**

> The story is FINISHED so I'll be posting a new chapter every couple days, I would greatly appreciate reviews; this is my first Star Wars fic and I'm extremely nervous about it, but I want to know if everyone enjoys it and I'd like to hear any thoughts or criticism my readers might have! Thank you very much, and please enjoy the fic!


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